THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


fc> 

JH 


TO    LOVE 


AND 


//£ 

'4- 


TO      BE      LOVED 


Itnrq. 


BY 


A.    S.    ROE, 

AUTHOR  OF  "JAMES  MONTJOY,  OR  I'VE  BEEN  THINKING." 


NEW-YORK : 

D.  APPLETON  &  COMPANY,  200  BROADWAY. 

PHILADELPHIA  : 
GEO.  S.  APPLETON,  l&l  CHESNUT-ST. 

1851. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1830,  by 

D.  APPLETON  &  CO., 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District  of  New-York. 


• 


-724 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THOSE  of  my  readers  who  were  acquainted  with  the  city 
of  New- York  some  forty  years  since,  will  be  able  to  call 
to  mind  the  Old  Fly-Market,  together  with  the  broken  brick 
pavements,  the  small  wooden  buildings,  and  the  etceteras 
which  then  distinguished  that  portion  of  the  great  city. 

They  will  probably  also  remember  a  very  little  street 
running  parallel  with  said  Fly-Market,  and  within  sight  and 
scent  thereof,  down  towards  the  river. 

The  necessity  for  this  passage,  so  narrow  that  it  would 
only  allow  a  single  cart  to  traverse  it,  and  so  near  to  wider 
thoroughfares  running  in  the  same  direction,  has  ever  been 
a  doubtful  matter ;  and  the  reasons  for  allowing  it,  are  lost 
with  the  good  folks  who  planned  this  once  so  important 
portion  of  the  city,  and  who  have  long  since  passed  away. 

At  one  corner  of  this  lane,  there  once  stood  a  low,  wooden 
building  of  a  dark  leaden  color  ;  it  had  four  windows  on 

street,  and  two  doors,  all  of  them  near  the  ground,  the 

former  covered  with  dust  and  cobwebs,  which  had  been  col 
lecting  there  for  more  than  twenty  years,  nothing  but  the 
rains  of  heaven  having  washed  them  for  at  least  that  period. 
Around  the  doors  could  always  be  seen  two  or  three  weather- , 
beaten  boxes,  upon  one  of  which  reposed  something  in  the^j 
shape  of  a  paint  keg ;  between  the  windows  lay  a  row  of 
tar  barrels,  some  whole  and  some  partly  emptied,  while  con 
tiguous  to  them  and  resting^  against  the  front  of  the  building, 


10  TO   LOVE    AND    TO   BE    LOVED. 

was  an  enormous  anchor,  with  one  fluke  partly  buried  in  the 
ground,  affording  a  convenient  lounge,  on  which  some  half- 
score  of  negroes  could,  in  a  hot  summer's  afternoon,  enjoy 
their  fill  of  laughter  and  sunshine. 

On  entering  the  building,  the  eye  immediately  wandered 
over  a  confused  mass  of  articles  that  lay  hither  and  thither, 
coils  of  newly  tarred  rope,  bunches  of  black  shining  chains, 
barrels  somewhat  resembling  those  at  the  door,  kegs  of 
various  sizes,  pulleys,  large  iron  rings,  spikes,  tin  canisters, 
and  sea-lanterns;  some  of  these  were  to  be  seen,  and  some 
a  stranger  might  stumble  over,  for  it  was  never  very  light. 
But  they  are  not  to  be  mentioned  as  samples  of  what  lay 
back,  stowed  away  in  the  recesses  of  this  long  building.  All 
that  a  ship  might  need,  from  a  ball  of  tow-yarn  to  a  best 
bower-anchor,  could  there  be  had. 

On  the  left  hand  of  the  entrance  stood  a  partition,  with 
two  sliding  lights  and  a  glass  door  opening  into  the  sanctum 
of  the  wealthy  ship  chandlers,  Mess.  Gr.  &  A.  Hunt. 

These  gentlemen  were  brothers;  they  had  begun  the 
world  together  poor,  and  had  tugged  their  way  through  the 
briers  and  thorns  of  business  well  on  towards  the  top  of  the 
hill,  enjoying  a  fine  run  of  trade,  with  a  store  full  of  goods 
and  no  notes  out,  and  with  no  account  in  any  bank. 

The  elder  had  married,  early  in  life,  a  lady  who  knew 
well,  and  almost  too  well,  how  to  save  his  earnings.  Chil 
dren  were  not  added  to  their  stock  of  earthly  good  things, 
so  that  their  property  accumulated  to  their  hearts'  content. 

The  younger  brother,  although  much  the  most  comely  of 
the  two,  had  contented  himself  as  a  bachelor,  and,  as  an 
exception  against  the  connubial  state,  was  much  the  most 
liberal,  the  elder  Mr.  Hunt  being  looked  upon,  and  I  fear 
with  some  reason,  as  rather  a  close  man.  You  would  not 
have  thought  so,  however,  as  you  entered  his  office,  and  saw 
him  sitting  in  his  arm-chair  before  the  little  grate  fire,  his 
full,  round  face  would  turn  up  to  you  so  pleasantly,  and  he 
'would  bid  you  such  a  hearty  good  morning,  you  might  have 
taken  him  as  a  personification  of  benevolence.  But  let  him 
know«that  you  wanted  a  little  aid,  no  matter  how  trifling, 
for  poor  Christians,  or  poor  heathen,  or  any  cause  whatever, 
and  a  mighty  change  was  at  once  visible.  The  spectacles 
would  be  taken  down  from  the  forehead,  and  put  in  their 


TO    LOVE   AND   TO   BE   LOVED.  11 

proper  place  before  the  eyes,  the  smile  would  fly  away  like  a 
flash,  the  poker  would  be  used  very  briskly  in  stirring  up 
the  fire,  and  there  would  be  suddenly  so  many  orders  issued 
to  the  clerk,  and  so  many  things  to  be  put  up,  and  such  hints 
about  people's  being  prudent,  and  about  charity  at  home, 
that  very  likely  you  would  wish  that  you  had  said  nothing 
about  the  matter,  and  watch  for  an  opening  to  make  a  decent 
retreat. 

At  the  time  when  my  story  commences  some  little 
changes  were  in  agitation,  more  especially  to  suit  the  wishes 
of  the  younger  Mr.  Hunt,  who  was  somewhat  anxious,  now 
that  they  had  acquired  an  independence,  to  be  relieved  from 
the  drudgery  of  business.  His  desire  was,  that  a  young 
man  who  had  been  with  them  some  years,  a  nephew,  and 
bearing  their  name,  should  he  taken  in  as  a  partner,  and 
that  a  clerk  of  suitable  abilities  be  procured  to  take  the 
place  of  him  who  was  to  be  elevated. 

The  elder  Mr.  Hunt  disliked  changes  of  any  kind,  and 
especially  such  as  would  involve  expense,  but  being  strongly 
attached  to  his  brother,  and  finding  that  his  heart  was  set 
upon  the  matter,  he  had  finally  yielded,  and  Rudolph  Hunt, 
for  that  was  the  name  of  the  young  man,  was  duly  published 
as  a  partner  of  the  concern  ;  he  had  also  so  far  agreed  to 
the  second  requisition,  that  an  advertisment  appeared  in  the 
New-York  Gazette,  informing  the  public,  that  the  firm  of  Gr. 
&  A.  Hunt  wanted  a  person  competent  to  take  charge  of  a 
set  of  books,  and  willing  to  engage  in  any  department  of 
their  business. 

Many  applications  immediately  followed  this  announce 
ment,  for  the  great  city  was  just  then  suffering  under  one  of 
those  terrible  revulsions  in  trade  which  occasionally  falls 
upon  the  business  community  and  throws  a  gloom  over  every 
mercantile  interest ;  when  merchants  stand  listlessly  at 
their  doors,  or  lounge  in  their  office  chairs,  thinking  over  bad 
speculations,  bad  debts,  doubtful  notes,  and  heavy  payments 
ahead.  Sad  indeed,  at  such  a  time,  is  the  fate  of  those  who, 
dismissed  because  there  is  no  work  for  them  to  do  behind 
the  counter  or  at  the  desk,  are  obliged  to  look  for  new  situa 
tions  in  the  only  employment  to  which  they  have  been 
trained,  and  by  which  they  can  earn  their  bread.  No  won 
der  then  that  a  crowd  of  applicants  should  at  once  have  been 


12  TO    LOVE   AND    TO   BE    LOVED. 

aroused,  when  an  opportunity  was  thus  made  known  for  an 
engagement  with  a  firm  long  established  and  beyond  the 
chances  and  changes  of  trade. 

But  there  seemed  to  be  some  objection,  especially  in  the 
mind  of  the  elder  partner,  to  all  who  had  hitherto  applied, 
until  it  appeared  a  very  doubtful  case  whether  any  addition 
would,  after  all,  be  made  to  the  numerical  force  of  the  estab 
lishment. 

A  few  days,  however,  after  the  advertisment  appeared,  a 
young  man  called,  whose  gentlemanly  address  and  apparent 
ability  to  fill  the  situation,  so  satisfied  the  younger  brother 
and  the  junior  partner,  that,  as  the  elder  Mr.  Hunt  was 
absent,  they  had,  upon  their  own  responsibility,  requested 
him  to  call  again  at  9  o'clock  the  next  morning. 

The  next  morning  had  arrived,  and  it  wanted  but  a  few 
minutes  of  the  appointed  hour.  The  two  brothers  were 
seated,  each  in  an  arm-chair,  before  the  little  grate  fire. 

There  was  a  similarity  in  the  features  of  the  two,  for 
both  had  full,  round  faces,  and  small,  twinkling  eyes,  but  to 
an  acute  observer,  the  expressions  were  very  unlike.  In  the 
younger  could  clearly  be  seen  the  open,  manly,  generous 
spirit,  combining  with  a  shrewd  and  somewhat  waggish  pro 
pensity.  In  the  other,  care  and  close  calculation  were 
plainly  legible. 

"  Well,  brother,  what  shall  we  conclude  about  this  young 
man  ?  it  is  almost  9  o'clock  ;"  and  the  younger  Mr.  Hunt,  as 
he  said  this,  laid  down  the  morning  paper  upon  his  knee,  and 
looked  inquiringly  at  his  brother,  with  an  arch  smile  trem 
bling  at  the  corners  of  his  mouth. 

"  I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,  what  to  do  about  it ;  there 
aint  any  of  the  young  men  now  a  days  that  seem  to  be  good 
for  any  thing ;  they  think  more  of  their  watch  chains  and 
fine  coats  than  they  do  of  work." 

As  Mr.  Gerardus  or,  as  he  was  sometimes  called,  Mr. 
Geordie  Hunt  said  this,  he  pulled  down  his  spectacles  and 
took  up  the  poker,  striking  with  rather  a  jerky  air  some 
stray  cinders  that  had  fallen  too  far  upon  the  hearth. 

Knowing  pretty  well  for  whom  this  hint  was  intended, 
the  younger  Mr.  Hunt  turned  a  smiling  eye  over  towards 
the  desk  where  the  junior  partner  was  busy  with  his  books  ; 
Rudolph  did  love  watch  chains  and  fine  coats ;  he  smiled 


TO    LOVE    AND   TO    BE    LOVED.  13 

in  answer  to  the  look  of  his  uncle,  and  kept  on  with  his 
work. 

"  I'm  afraid  it  is  too  true,  what  you  say,  brother  ;  but 
we  can't  make  them  over.  The  world  has  changed  some 
since  our  young  days.  Watches  don't  cost  so  much  as  they 
once  did,  nor  coats  either.  But  what  we  can't  cure  we  must 
put  up  with." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so," — with  a  heavy  sigh. 

"  We  want  a  young  man ;  you  and  I  are  getting  along  in 
life ;  we  don't  care  to  work  as  we  once  did,  and  nephew 
can't  be  out-door  man  and  in-door  clerk  too — aint  that  clear, 
brother  ?" 

"  Why,  I  suppose  it  must  be  so ;  but  I  should  judge  from 
what  you  tell  about  the  youngster,  that  he  is  a  delicate  kind 
of  a  person,  not  fit  to  work." 

"  Oh  !  by  no  means,  brother ;  you  mistake,  you  mistake ; 
you  don't  understand.  He  is,  to  be  sure,  very  gentlemanly 
in  his  manners.  You  don't  object  to  that?" 

"Oh!  no,  no,  no." 

"  I  said  that  he  appeared  like  one  that  had  been  well 
brought  up :  brought  up  with  care." 

"Well,  well,  well ;  just  as  you  and  Rudolph  say.  If  we 
must  have  him,  we  must;  that's  all." 

"  Not  at  all ;  no  must  about  it.  brother.  I  want  you  to 
be  satisfied,  especially  as  he  is  to  be  in  your  family.  But 
here  he  comes." 

The  appearance  of  the  young  man  did,  indeed,  warrant 
the  idea  which  the  elder  Mr.  Hunt  had  received,  "that  he 
was  a  delicate  kind  of  a  person,"  for  his  countenance  was 
pale,  except  a  slight  flush,  which  suffused  it  on  the  moment 
of  entering  ;  and  there  was  a  softness  to  his  complexion,  bor 
dering  upon  effeminacy,  but  which  was  happily  relieved  by 
his  raven  hair  and  keen  black  eye. 

He  was  evidently  under  strong  excitement ;  for  when  the 
elder  Mr  Hunt  questioned  him,  in  his  scrutinizing  way,  as 
to  his  knowledge  of  business,  and  his  ability  to  keep  accounts, 
and  his  willingness  to  do  whatever  he  was  called  upon  to  do 
about  the  store,  he  answered  promptly  and  to  the  point ;  but 
there  .was  a  tremor  in  his  voice,  and  his  countenance  assumed 
a  more  pallid  hue ;  it  was  evident  that  the  situation  was  ono 
of  great  moment  to  him. 


14  TO   LOVE    AND   TO   BE   LOVED. 

Mr.  Geordie  Hunt  was  allowed  to  do  all  the  questioning, 
and  he  clearly  manifested  more  complacency  towards  the  ap 
plicant  than  for  any  other  that  had  appeared  before  him : 
he  was  either  pleased  with  his  answers,  or  affected,  by  the 
expression  of  sadness  which  was  a  marked  feature  of  his 
countenance. 

"  Well,  so  far.  so  good — and  now  to  whom  did  you  say 
that  you  referred  ?" 

The  young  man  hesitated ;  he  did  not  appear  to  under 
stand  the  question. 

"  My  brother  means — to  whom  do  you  refer  as  to  your — 
as  to  your  habits  of  business  ? — as  to  your  character  and  so 
on  ? — with  whom  have  you  lived  ?  Being  strangers  to  one 
another,  you  know  that  some  such  thing  is  usual." 

"  Oh,  certainly,  sir,  certainly — you  are  correct.  But  I 
shall  have  a  difficulty  here  that  I  did  not  anticipate.  I  have 
been  in  my  father's  office  for  the  last  three  years,  or  since 
he  came  from  the  South,  and  my  father,  even  if  you  thought 
proper  to  receive  his  testimonial,  is  too  unwell  to  give  it." 

Again  the  color  mantled  his  cheek,  and  the  tremor  of 
his  voice  was  more  manifest. 

A  sudden  change,  too,  had  come  over  the  mind  of  the 
elder  Mr.  Hunt,  for  he  turned  towards  the  fire  and  again, 
commenced  operations  with  the  poker. 

The  younger  brother  observing  this,  and  well  knowing 
what  the  sign  meant,  gave  up  at  once  all  hope  that  any  en 
gagement  would  be  entered  into  just  then.  He  felt,  however, 
very  unwilling  thus  to  part  with  the  young  man.  He  was 
more  interested  in  him  than  at  the  first  interview — there  was 
a  manliness  and  frankness  in  his  whole  demeanor,  which, 
united  with  his  modest  and  pleasant  manners,  won  each  mo 
ment  upon  the  really  tender  feelings  of  the  younger  Mr. 
Hunt 

Rudolph  was  also  an  interested  listener ;  and,  when  he 
saw  the  signs  of  non-commitalism  on  the  part  of  his  senior 
uncle,  beckoned  the  former  to  his  desk. 

"  Right,  right,  well — well,  perhaps  we'd  better — "     And 
then,  turning  towards  the  young  man — 

••  My  nephew  suggests  that  perhaps  you  had  better  leave 
your  address,  and  we  may  send  you  word  in  a  few  days." 

';  Certainly,  sir,"  and  stepping  to  the  desk,  with  great  ra- 


TO    LOVE    AND    TO   BE    LOVED.  15 

pidity  and  neatness,  he  wrote  his  own  name  and  that  of  his 
father,  with  the  number  and  street  where  he  resided. 

'•  Had  you  not  better,  Mr.  Edwards,"  said  Rudolph,  as  he 
looked  at  the  paper  which  the  young  man  handed  to  him, 
"  put  down  the  number  of  your  father's  office,  or  place  of 
business?1' 

"  My  father,  sir,  has  no  office  at  present ;  he  gave  it  up 
nearly  two  months  since,  and  for  that  reason  I  am,  seeking 
a  situation  ;  he  did  business  at  No.  —  Pine  Street." 


CHAPTER  II. 

It  was  a  stormy  night  in  the  city ;  fitful  gusts  of  wind 
roared  through  the  narrow  streets,  and  the  heavy  rain  pour 
ed  down  in  torrents.  The  poor  crouched  together  in  their 
wretched  tenements,  huddled  like  sheep  within  their  pens, 
and  the  rich  laughed  lightly  in  their  lighted  halls,  or  rolled 
in  their  sumptuous  carriages  to  the  ball-room,  the  theatre, 
or  the  splendid  party. 

Death  waits  not  for  storm  or  sunshine.  Within  a  dwelling 
in  one  of  the  upper  streets,  respectable  in  appearance,  and 
furnished  with  such  conveniences  as  distinguish  the  habita 
tions  of  those  who  rank  among  the  higher  classes  of  society, 
a  man  of  midle  age  lay  on  his  last  bed,  momently  waiting 
the  final  summons.  All  that  the  most  skilful  medical  atten 
dance  ;  all  that  love,  warm  as  the  glow  that  fires  an  angel's  bo 
som,  could  do.  had  been  done  ;  by  day  and  night  for  many  long 
weeks,  had  ministering  spirits,  such  as  a  devoted  wife  and  lov 
ing  children  are,  done  all  within  their  power  to  ward  off  the 
blow.  But  there  he  lay,  his  raven  hair  smoothed  off  from 
his  noble  brow,  his  dark  eyes  lighted  with  unnatural  bright 
ness,  and  contrasting  strongly  with  the  pallid  hue  which 
marked  him  as  an  expectant  of  the  dread  messenger. 

Beside  him  stood  a  youth  of  eighteen,  fresh  with  health, 

but  with  every  feature  softened  into  a  look  of  tenderest  love. 

"Would.  God.  I  could  die  for  thee,  oh  !.my  father,"  was 

plainly  written  on  his  beautiful  countenance ;  his  hand  was 

within  that  of  the  dying  man,  and  the  bright  eye  of  the 


16  TO    LOVE    AND   TO   BE    LOVED. 

father  was  fixed  upon  him,  as  though  thoughts,  too  many 
and  too  overpowering,  were  agonizing  to  let  their  fulness  out. 

"  My  dear  boy,  it  is  almost  over."  The  tones  were  soft 
and  trembling,  and,  as  they  fell  upon  the  ear  of  the  youth, 
the  tears  dropped  freely ;  but  he  answered  not. 

"  It  has  been  a  weary  course — a  toil  for  nothing,  James 
— but  you  know  it  all ;  I  have  tried  hard  to  resist  the  tor 
rent  that  has  been  pressing  against  me." 

"  Dear  father,  let  these  thoughts  of  the  past  go.  You 
have  done  your  best." 

A  hectic  flush  tinged  the  cheek  of  the  sufferer,  as  though 
the  soft  tones  of  that  boy  had  started  the  life  blood  anew. 

"  Yes,  James,  you  are  right,  I  have  done  with  the  past 
noV.  But  the  future  ! — not  mine.  I  have  no  fears  for  my 
self;  I  am  going  to  rest;  but  those  dear  ones — your  mother 
— your  sisters — and  yourself.  I  leave  you  nothing — not 
even  one  friend  to  aid  you." 

The  drops  were  gathering  on  his  marble  brow,  and  re 
leasing  his  hand  from  his  fathers  grasp,  the  youth  gently 
wiped  them  away. 

"  Dear  father,  try  to  think  that  God  will  be  with  us,  as 
he  has  ever  been." 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes, — God — my  Father — Oh,  yes — I  will 
trust." 

The  wind  roared  by.  and  the  heavy  rain  poured  its  floods 
against  the  closed  windows.  Again  the  youth  pressed  his 
father's  hand. 

"  But  I  can  do  no  more.  I  leave  you.  my  dear  boy,  my 
last,  my  best  blessing.  You  have  comforted  my  dark  hours. 
You  have  denied  yourself  all  youthful  enjoyments  for  my 
sake — you  have  been  a  most  devoted  son.  God  bless  you — 
God  be  your " 

The  strong  yearnings  of  the  parent  could  not  find  vent 
in  words.  The  effort  already  made  was  too  much  for  his 
exhausted  frame,  and  his  short  and  troubled  breathing  warn 
ed  the  youth  that  its  work  was  nearly  ended. 

Around  that  bed,  in  mute  and  helpless  agony,  were  soon 
clustered  the  dear  ones  of  his  heart.  His  eye  rested  a  mo 
ment  with  eloquent  intensity  on  each  of  his  children,  bidding 
the  long  farewell ; — and  then  on  her,  who  had  been  his  first 
and  only  love,  the  partner  of  his  life's  journey  and  treasurer 


TO    LOVE    AND   TO    BE    LOVED.  17 

of  his  warm  affections,  he  fixed  his  last,  long  look,  until  its 
brightness  faded  away  beneath  the  film  of  death. 

It  is  broad  daylight.  The  sun  is  shining  brightly,  and 
the  busy  throng  jostle  each  other  in  the  crowded  street,  as 
they  are  hurrying  on  their  life's  errand. 

In  the  same  chamber  lies  a  corpse,  prepared  with  be 
coming  care  for  its  long  resting-place.  Beside  the  pale  ten 
ement  of  clay  stands  the  same  youth.  His  hands  are  folded, 
and  his  eye  fixed  mournfully  on  those  cold,  stiff  features. 
Past  scenes  in  his  young  life  are  flitting  through  his  mind 
in  quick  succession.  He  remembers  that  parent  when  the 
sun  shone  brightly  o'er  him ;  and  he  remembers,  too,  when* 
dark  clouds  gathered  thick,  and  poured  their  storms  upon 
him ;  how  his  own  young  heart  had  agonized  in  sympathy 
for  the  sorrow  which  that  parent  had  endured,  until  the 
whole  power  of  his  mind  was  enlisted  in  the  single  effort 
of  soothing  his  disturbed  feelings. 

That  troubled  heart  is  now  at  rest.  No  words  of  consola 
tion  more  it  needs  ;  no  filial  faithfulnesss  ;  no  eye  of  watch 
ful  love.  The  sacred  bond  is  severed,  and  the  impenetrable 
veil  has  dropped  its  heavy  folds  around  that  pale,  cold  sleeper. 

But  those  tears,  which  fall  so  silently,  tell  no  common 
tale.  And  yet  within  that  crowded  mart,  how  many  sons 
are  daily  called  to  stand  beside  a  father's  corpse.  Death 
walks  his  round  among  the  rich  and  poor,  and  lays  his  icy  hand 
alike  on  the  weary  sufferer,  and  the  pampered  devotee  of 
pleasure. 

Death  heeds  not  ties  of  love,  nor  frantic  widows'  tears, 
nor  the  wail  of  helpless  orphans  ;  but  round  and  round  he 
treads  his  solemn  way.  No  place,  no  time,  no  circumstance 
of  being  turns  his  step  aside.  The  palace  gate  unlocks  at 
his  approach,  and  amid  its  splendid  trappings  on  he  strides 
and  lays  his  victim  on  a  gilded  couch.  And  into  the  low, 
lonely  hut  of  destitution,  amid  crumbling  ruins,  and  where 
pale  want  sits  brooding,  he  steals  along,  and  the  poor  suffer 
er,  on  his  bed  of  straw,  quivers  and  is  still. 

It  was  no  common  tale,  I  said,  which  should  reveal  the 
secrets  of  that  youthful  heart.  True  filial  love  is  a  passion 
not  so  generally  possessed  as  many  think.  In  the  hour  of 
cliiMhood.  and  before  cold  and  foreign  influences  have  affected 
the  free  and  pure  play  of  the  heart,  we  all  know  with  what  as- 


18  TO    LOVE   AND   TO   BE    LOVED. 

surauce  of  protection,  with  what  confidence  in  his  wisdom, 
justice,  power  and  love,  the  little  one  looks  up  to  him  whom 
he  calls  father.  But  as  the  wayward  passions  increase  in 
strength,  as  they  often  meet  the  stern  and  just  rebuke,  feel 
ings  of  restraint  and  fear  arise  and  throw  their  icy  chill 
upon  that  holy  tie.  And  oft  the  world  comes  in.  that  heart 
less  creation,  which  knows  no  sacredness  in  love,  and  sees  no 
beauty  in  the  homely  bonds  of  life ;  that  selfish,  soulless, 
poisoning  world,  throws  its  deadening  shadow  on  the  fresh, 
young  heart ;  and  while  the  outward  show  is  still  observed, 
because  dependence  binds  him  within  the  circle  of  parental 
•  power,  all  that  was  beautiful  in  the  heart's  first  yearnings, 
all  that  was  heaven-born  in  its  obedience  and  confidence,  all 
that  threw  around  the  sacred  person  and  sacred  name  of 
father  a  halo  more  than  earthly,  has  departed. 

But  this  youth  had  never  known  one  cold  or  selfish 
thought  in  connection  with  that  fond  parent,  over  whose 
lifeless  body  his  tears  are  falling ;  no  reproaches  agonize  his 
heart  as  he  gazes  upon  those  marble  features ;  his  young 
life  has  been  one  devoted  day  of  truest  filial  love,  and  now 
he  weeps  that  he  can  do  no  more. 

John  T.  Edwards  succeeded  his  father  in  the  possession 
of  Pine-grove  estate,  in  North  Carolina.  The  property  had 
been  handed  down  from  father  to  son  for  some  generations, 
but  each  succeeding  inheritor  found  a  new  accumulation  of 
debt,  with  an  additional  number  of  acres  to  be  classed  as  old 
field,  and  of  little  value.  They  had,  however,  clung  to  the 
spot,  encumbered  as  it  was,  partly  because  the  revenue  from 
it  was  still  great,  and  enabled  the  possessor  to  live  in  re 
spectable  style,  and  partly  because  of  some  feelings,  which  are 
common  to  all.  and  among  the  best  we  have — a  fondness  for 
the  spot  which  has  been  the  home  of  our  ancestors,  and 
which  is  entwined  in  our  memories  with  our  happy  childhood 
years  There  was,  perhaps,  not  one  of  all  who  had  called 
this  Home,  whose  attachment  to  it  was  so  strong,  and  whose 
appreciation  of  its  natural  beauties  and  its  ancestral  charms 
was  more  true  and  quickening ;  and  yet  there  was  not  one 
less  fitted  to  cope  with  the  difficulties  with  which  it  was 
trammelled.  For  fifteen  years  he  struggled  with  them,  until 
disgusted  with  the  protracted  trial,  he  yielded  to  circumstan 
ces  he  could  not  control,  sold  the  estate,  and  with  the  remnant 


TO    LOVE    AND   TO   BE    LOVED.  19 

of  his  fortune,  removed  to  the  city  of  New-York,  and  com 
menced  a  mercantile  life.  But  he  was  not  fitted,  either  by 
nature  or  training,  for  the  new  station  in  which  he  had  placed 
himself.  He  was  not  a  money-making  man.  He  could 
not  so  bind  the  fine  feelings  of  his  sensitive  mind,  as  to  get 
them  interested  in  making  a  bargain.  Neither  could  he 
sympathize  with  the  multitude  in  their  scramble  for  the 
treasures  of  earth  ;  his  mind  shrunk  away  from  the  bustling 
throng  and  kept  close  communion  with  itself ;  dark  thoughts 
often  troubled  it ;  dark  clouds  were  continually  about  him  ; 
bright  rays  seldom  cheered  his  path,  and  when  they  did,  it 
was  but  an  April  sunshine  with  its  following  shadow. 

Within  the  domestic  circle  his  spirit  delighted  to  repose ; 
to  his  lovely  wife,  his  charming  daughters,  and  his  devoted 
son,  he  was  all  that  they  could  ask.  Around  them  were 
entwined  all  the  sympathies  of  his  soul,  and  on  their  pure 
love  he  rested,  and  could  he  but  have  retired  with  them  to  some 
calm  retreat,  free  from  distracting  care,  life  would  have  been 
to  him  a  summer's  journey. 

But  thus  it  could  not  be ;  he  was  in  the  deep  waters,  and 
must  struggle  on  although  in  vain.  It  would  be  no  pleasant 
task,  either  to  my  readers  or  myself,  to  picture  out  to  them 
the  dark  scene  of  a  declining  fortune,  or  to  open  to  their 
view  the  trying,  soul-sickening  experience  of  him  who  is 
called  to  witness  the  rapid  strides  of  coming  poverty.  A  few 
years  he  battled  with  the  foe,  his  spirit  broke  beneath  the 
stern  encounter,  and  he  sunk  to  his  long  rest. 

James  had  been  fully  acquainted  with  all  his  father's 
trials,  and  his  sympathies  were  strongly  excited.  He  was  his 
constant  companion  through  all  the  hours  of  business, 
encouraging  by  his  cheerful  smile  and  pleasant  words  when 
ever  a  favorable  aspect  was  presented,  and  through  all  ad 
verse  and  untoward  changes,  still  holding  up  before  him  that 
hope  of  better  times,  which  his  fond  father  would  have 
believed  in  if  he  could. 

No  youthful  recreation  had  any  charm  for  him  if  he  saw 
the  shade  of  sorrow  on  his  father's  brow.  Blest  youth  ! 
what  son  that  mourns  a  father  dead,  but  envies  those  rich 
tears  which  bathe  thine  eyes  and  fall  so  silently  before  that 
sacred  dust.  It  might  not  shame  an  angel's  brow  thus  to 
let  out  the  fulness  of  a  heart  like  thine :  and  if  the  fond 


20  TO    LOVE    AND    TO    BE    LOVED. 

spirit  that  lives  no  more  within  that  tenement  of  clay  looks, 
from  his  hidden  resting-place  upon  his  noble  boy  and  reads 
his  thoughts,  it  will  almost  make  that  better  state  more  bliss 
ful  to  know  the  true,  fond,  living  love  that  burns  within  thy 
bosom. 

The  funeral  solemnities  are  over.  There  has  been  no 
lack  of  followers  to  the  narrow  house.  The  world  has  done 
its  part  in  the  funeral  pageant  Many  questions  have  been 
asked  and  answered  as  to  the  peculiarities  of  him  whom  they 
were  following  to  the  narrow  house,  and  as  to  the  circum 
stances  in  which  he  had  left  his  family.  Acquaintances 
have  called  and  expressed  their  sympathy  with  the  bereaved 
family  ;  and  then  it  was  left  alone.  The  world  is  called  cold 
and  unfeeling.  Perhaps  it  is ;  at  least  it  would  not  be  sur 
prising  if,  to  those  who  call  it  hard  names,  it  should  present 
rather  a  severe  aspect ;  but  we  ought  to  keep  in  mind  that 
the  world,  as  we  call  it,  is  made  up  of  little  circles,  in  which 
each  atom  lives,  and  moves,  and  concentrates  its  interest. 
That  the  world  did  not  feel  for  this  little  family  was  simply 
because  the  world  knew  nothing  of  it,  and  therefore  it  was 
left  alone. 

A  few  days  after  the  funeral  solemnities,  from  a  window 
of  this  same  building  a  little  red  flag  was  displayed,  and  all 
the  morning,  persons  of  various  descriptions  were  going  in 
and  out.  and  the  sharp  stroke  of  the  auctioneer's  little  ham 
mer  and  his  lively  voice  could  be  heard,  mingled  at  times 
with  the  merry  laugh  which  his  smart  repartee  had  excited  ; 
and  then  carts  were  driving  up  to  the  door  in  quick  succes 
sion,  bearing  off  loads  of  household  goods,  dear  to  those  who 
lately  owned  them,  by  all  that  was  sacred  in  associations  of 
parental  and  conjugal  love,  but  only  to  be  prized  hereafter 
for  the  cheapness  at  which  they  had  been  purchased. 

Throughout  the  day  the  scene  continued,  and  the  last 
load  was  not  wheeled  away  until  the  shades  of  evening  drew 
on.  The  little  flag  then  disappeared.  Strangers'  feet 
ceased  to  pollute  the  spoiled  home,  and  the  little  family 
close  the  door,  and  cluster  around  the  fireside,  where  they 
had  so  often  gathered. 

It  is  a  great  mistake,  which  many  are  apt  to  indulge, 
that  those  who  have  enjoyed  an  elevated  station  in  society, 
are  disqualified  to  bear  reverse  of  fortune ;  that  those  who 


TO    LOVE   AND   TO    BE    LOVED.  21 

have  walked  proudly  on  the  summit  level,  cannot  descend 
the  lowest  depths  of  life  and  bear  the  ills  of  poverty  with 
out  proportional  distress.  This  is  not  so.  The  mind  that 
has  long  cherished  independent  feelings — that  has  heen  re 
fined  by  intercourse  with  polished  circles — that  has  been 
accustomed  to  the  homage  of  the  many,  and  mingled  with 
the  nobler  ones  of  earth  as  equals,  still  maintains  its  dignity 
and  self-respect,  when  far,  far  down,  it  walks  the  humble, 
narrow  path.  The  cottage,  the  menial  employment,  the 
pitying,  sneering  world  cannot  bend  its  towering  crest,  nor 
tear  from  it  that  proud  support — its  own  self-respect. 

Mrs.  Edwards  had  been  well  aware  that  the  circumstan 
ces  of  her  husband  were  such  as  held  out  to  her  the  certainty 
of  a  great  and  sad  change ;  fain  would  she  have  urged  him 
to  descend  at  once,  to  relinquish  the  struggle  with  opposing 
fortune,  and  be  poor  that  he  might  be  happy.  But  she 
knew  well  how  sensibly  alive  he  was  to  any  thing  that 
concerned  her  standing  in  the  world  ;  he  had  taken  her  from 
its  highest  station,  and  there  he  wished  to  retain  her ;  and 
when  she  knew  the  worst,  when  poverty,  in  all  its  cold  and 
forbidding  aspect,  was  full  in  view,  she  shrank  not  from  its 
presence,  but,  with  a  calm  and  steady  look,  prepared  to  meet 
its  stern  realities. 

She  was  still  in  the  prime  of  life,  and  her  beauty  fresh 
upon  her.  The  two  lovely  plants,  her  daughters,  were  but 
images  of  her  former  self.  Mary,  the  eldest,  was  just  fifteen ; 
and  Julia,  nearly  two  years  younger.  Trained  in  an  atmos 
phere  of  love,  their  beautiful  features  were  but  emblems  of 
their  warm  and  noble  hearts. 

"  It  has  been  a  trying  day  to  you,  mother,  but  it  is  all 
over  now." 

"  Yes,  my  son,  but  it  was  a  necessary  sacrifice.  Your 
father  cannot  now  be  remembered  by  any  one  as  his  debtor." 

"  That  is  a  happy  thought,  dear  mother,"  said  Mary,  her 
bright  eye  kindling  with  emotion,  as  it  looked  full  upon  the 
sad,  yet  beautiful  countenance  of  her  parent ;  "  if  we  have 
no  friends,  we  can  exult  in  the  thought  that  we  are  no  man's 
debtor." 

"  It  has,  indeed,  been  a  trial,  which  once  I  could  not 
have  supposed  it  possible  to  bear.  I  mean  what  we  have 
gone  through  this  day.  To  hear  strangers  jesting  over 


22  TO    LOVE   AND    TO    BE    LOVED. 

sacred  relics  of  our  family,  to  see  rude  hands  carrying  off 
what,  to  us,  is  associated  with  our  tenderest  feelings.  Oh  ! 
it  has  agitated  me  strangely.  One  thought  alone  has  enabled 
me  to  bear  it." 

"You  mean  dear  father's  last  wish?" 

"  Yes,  Mary,  the  idea  of  leaving  the  world  with  a  blot 
upon  his  name — you  know  that  his  views  on  that  subject 
were  peculiar,  but  they  were  noble  and  just.  He  considered 
a  debt  uncancelled  a  moral  taint." 

"  I  made  him  a  solemn  promise,  mother,  that  every  thing 
should  be  paid,  to  the  last  farthing." 

"  But,  James,  my  dear  son !  how  did  you  know  that  it 
could  be  accomplished?" 

"  Why,  mother,  I  pledged  my  strength,  my  life,  for  that 
one  object,  and  the  support  of  my  mother  and  sisters,  and 
sooner  shall  my  arm  wither  than  that  pledge  be  unredeemed. 
Your  generosity  in  thus  sacrificing  all  that  was  so  valuable 
to  you,  as  the  property  of  your  ancestors,  has  relieved  me 
from  one  part  of  this  promise,  and  I  have  nothing  now  to 
do  but  labor  for  your  support." 

"  God  be  your  helper,  James,  and  may  you  reap  a  rich 
reward  for  your  past  faithfulness  to  your  dear  father.  His 
last  prayer  will,  I  trust,  prove  a  rich  legacy  to  you.  But  I 
cannot  think  of  allowing  you  to  spend  your  energies,  merely 
struggling  to  support  us.  You  will  find  it  hard  enough,  my 
dear  boy,  to  make  your  own  way,  without  means  and  with 
out  friends." 

James  arose  without  replying  to  what  his  mother  had 
said,  and  walked  the  room,  evidently  under  deep  excitement ; 
his  lovely  sisters  watched  him  a  moment,  their  bright  eyes 
glistening  with  the  tears  that  told  how  quickening  was  the 
sympathy  that  burned  within. 

"  Brother,  dear  brother  !"  and  each  was  clinging  to  an 
arm  and  looking  into  his  anxious  countenance  with  expres 
sions  of  the  warmest  love.  "  Don't,  dear  brother ;  don't 

James "  and  Mary  wiped  away  in  the  gentlest  manner 

the  tear  that  was  just  starting  from  its  hiding-place.  "  We 
shall  be  able  to  help  more  than  you  think  for ;  we  have 
already  thought  what  we  can  do." 

"  My  dear  sisters,  if  you  do  not  wish  to  distress  me,  you 
will  cease  at  once ;"  and  leading  them  to  the  seats  they  had 


TO    LOVE    AND    TO    BE    LOVED.  23 

left,  he  placed  himself  beside  her  whose  tones  of  love  had 
ever  been  sweet  music  to  his  ear,  and  gently  taking  the  hand 
with  which  she  was  concealing  her  strong  emotions — 

"  Mother,  I  have  one  request  to  make  of  you :  If  you 
value  my  peace  of  mind,  if  you  have  any  regard  for  my 
feelings  as  a  son  and  a  brother,  you  will  never  again,  nor 
permit  my  sisters  ever  again,  to  speak  in  this  way ;  never 
until  it  shall  be  proved  that  my  efforts  are  hopeless.  Let  me 
fulfil  what  would  have  been  my  father's  wish ;  at  least  let 
me  try  first." 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  street  door,  and  James  arose 
immediately ;  it  was  a  well-known  single  rap,  and  by  the 
token  a  friend,  although  one  in  humble  life. 

There  was  a  cordial  grasping  of  hands,  but  neither  spoke  ; 
silently  the  visitor  followed  James  through  the  hall,  to  the 
room  where  the  little  family  was  seated. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Upjohn  !"  and  Mrs.  Edwards  arose  quickly, 
and  welcomed  him  with  much  feeling.  He  was  not.  indeed, 
an  emissary  from  the  gay  and  fashionable  world ;  he  was  a 
plain-looking  man,  and  plainly  dressed  ;  but  had  he  been  in 
princely  garments,  and  his  rank  of  high  degree,  he  could 
not  have  been  treated  with  more  consideration.  A  seat  was 
at  once  placed  for  him  in  their  circle  by  the  fire,  but  it  was 
not  until  strongly  urged  by  each  member  of  the  little  family 
that  he  consented  to  take  the  place  assigned  him.  He  was 
one  of  those  fine  specimens  of  human  nature  that  we  some 
times  meet  with,  where  a  rough  exterior  conceals  a  warm 
and  generous  heart.  He  had  a  ready  hand  to  help  a  neigh 
bor  in  an  hour  of  trial.  They  had  experienced  his  timely 
aid  in  many  ways  during  the  scene  of  sickness  through  which 
they  had  just  passed ;  and  through  all  the  mournful  close 
thereof  had  he  done  every  thing  to  relieve  their  sad  hearts 
from  care  and  unpleasant  duty.  He  seemed  to  be  gifted 
with  the  tact  of  discerning  just  where  he  could  be  most  use 
ful.  Thus  has  he  bound  himself  to  the  hearts  of  this  family, 
by  such  ties  as  can  never  be  destroyed,  while  they  retain 
the  remembrance  of  him  for  whom  those  deeds  of  love  were 
enacted. 

As  yet.  the  visitor  had  not  spoken ;  he  seemed  to  feel 
that  he  was  on  sacred  ground ;  that  he  was  connected  in 


24  TO    LOVE   AND   TO    BE    LOVED. 

their  minds  with  all  that  was  tender  and  heart-rending  in 
the  scenes  of  the  few  past  days. 

"  You  are  truly  welcome,  Mr.  Upjohn ;  we  feel  rather 
sad  this  evening  after  the  events  of  the  day,  and  were  just 
now  talking  about  our  plans  for  the  future." 

He  turned  towards  Mrs.  Edwards  as  she  addressed  him, 
and  answered  in  trembling  tones — 

"  It's  hard,  madam  ;  it  must  be  very  hard.  It  makes  my 
heart  sick  to  see  the  great  change.  But  to  you.  madam,  who 
have  always  had  a  plenty  to  do  with,  it  must  be  severe  in 
deed.  It  makes  my  heart  ache  to  think  of  it." 

"  God  orders  our  changes,  you  know.  Mr.  Upjohn.  We 
must  therefore  submit  patiently  to  whatever  his  will  ap 
points." 

There  was  no  reply  to  this  remark,  unless  a  slight  clearing 
of  the  throat,  and  a  change  of  position,  and  the  smoothing 
down  of  his  foretop,  which  already  lay  as  though  it  had  been 
arranged  with  more  than  common  care,  might  be  taken  as 
such.  Mr.  Upjohn  could  not,  with  all  his  heart,  assent  to 
the  proposition ;  but  he  did  not  like  to  object  to  it. 

"  I  am  very  glad  that  you  have  called  this  evening,  sir,  for 
I  have  no  one  to  advise  with,  and  just  now  we  are  much  in 
doubt  what  course  to  pursue.  Perhaps,  my  son,  you  have 
mentioned  to  Mr.  Upjohn  some  of  your  plans." 

"  I  have,  mother,  but  Mr.  Upjohn  thinks  that  you  will  not 
be  pleased' with  the  country." 

"  I  will  tell  you.  madam  ;  my  first  thought  was,  when  Mas 
ter  James  mentioned  the  matter  to  me,  as  he  had  been  tell 
ing  some  of  his  troubles  and  how  things  are  not  just  as  you 
wish  them,  my  first  thought  was  that  you,  madam,  and  these 
two  young  ladies  would  not  be  used  to  the  ways  of  the  coun 
try.  The  country  is  pleasanter,  no  doubt,  than  this  great  Babel 
of  brick  and  mortar,  and  country  folks  are  clever  enough  in 
their  way ;  but  a  body  must  know  how  to  take  'em, — and 
seeing  that  yourself  and  these  young  ladies  have  never  been 
used  to  the  rough  and  tumble  of  life,  you  might  find  it  not 
so  agreeable." 

"  But,  Mr.  Upjohn,  it  will  not  answer  for  us,  now,  to  be 
particular  as  to  where  we  live  nor  how  we  fare  :  we  are  poor 
now,  sir,  very  poor.  And  all  we  seek  is  a  shelter  and " 


TO   LOVE    AND    TO    BE    LOVED.  25 

James  looked  at  his  mother  with  an  expression  of  deep 
sorrow. 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  pain  your  feelings,  my  dear  son,  and 
will  not  say  what  I  was  intending  to.  But  poverty,  James, 
is  no  disgrace,  since  we  have  reduced  ourselves  to  feel  its 
pinchings,  that  we  might  be  honest." 

"  It  is  not  that,  mother  ;  I  care  not  for  poverty  ;  the  shame 
attached  to  it  does  not  trouble  me.  But  when  you  talk  of 
the  pinchings  of  poverty.  You  shall  not  feel  them,  nor  my 
sisters  either.  Let  me  only  get  you  a  home  in  some  retired 
place  ;  I  know  that  I  can  do  more  than  you  imagine.  If 
nothing  more,  I  can  work  as  a  day-laborer.  Only  gratify 
me  in  this  one  wish ;  to  take  the  care  of  you  on  myself. 
You  shall  not  want,  you  need  not  fear  it ;  you  must  not  talk 
about  it." 

The  energy  with  which  he  spoke,  at  once  silenced  the  little 
company  ;  his  mother  and  sisters  gazed  at  him  with  intense 
interest,  but  each  with  different  feelings.  The  latter,  with 
an  expression  of  strong  admiration  beaming  from  their  glis 
tening  eyes  ;  the  former  with  all  the  softness  of  a  mother's 
love,  and  joy  in  witnessing  this  exhibition  of  his  noble  feel 
ings,  mingled  with  the  painful  thought  that  he  knew  but  lit 
tle  of  the  stern  realities  of  life's  fearful  struggle.  Not  will 
ing  to  damp  his  filial  ardor,  she  immediately  changed  the 
tenor  of  her  remarks. 

"  Do  you  know  of  any  place,  Mr.  Upjohn,  not  too  far  from 
the  city,  some  retired  village,  that  would  be  desirable  as  a 
residence  for  us  ?" 

"  I  do  know  of  a  place,  madam,  that  of  all  others,  it 
seems  to  me.  would  be  desirable  for  one  in  your  situation. 
Not  so  much  on  account  of  the  people  ;  they  are  well  enough, 
good  sort  of  folks,  and  will  no  doubt  treat  you  with  much 
kindness.  Country  people  are  kind-hearted  to  strangers,  I 
will  say  that  of  them  ;  that  is,  if  they  don't  hold  their  heads 
too  high.  But  I  was  thinking  that  it  would  suit  you,  madam, 
and  the  young  ladies,  on  account  of  the  blessed  minister 
they've  got.  There  is  many  of  that  craft  (asking  your  par 
don,  madam),  that  ain't  no  better  than  they  ought  to  be ;  but 
Mr.  Wharton  is  a  prince  among  'em ;  he's  a  true  Christian, 
and  a  true  gentleman,  every  inch  of  him.  and  his  lady,  if  any 
thing,  is  a  little  better  than  he  is.  She  is  a  jewel  of  a  woman, 
2 


26  TO   LOVE   AND    TO   BE    LOVED. 

that  Mrs.  Wharton.  They  are  none  of  your  common,  every 
day  folks.  They  seem  to  know  what  the  world  is  made  of, 
for  they  have  seen  a  great  deal  of  it,  and  while  they  would 
never  stoop  their  heads  for  the  proudest  of  the  land,  for  they 
have  been  bred  among  the  highest  folks,  yet  the  poor  man  is 
always  welcome  at  their  fireside.  God  bless  them, — they  are 
a  noble  pair." 

"  Is  it  far  from  the  city  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Edwards  and  her 
daughters  almost  in  the  same  breath,  for  they  had  become 
much  interested. 

"  Not  very  far,  madam  ;  a  day's  travel,  not  over  thirty 
miles." 

"  The  mother  and  sisters  now  turned  an  inquiring  look  at 
James,  who  was  also  listening  to  Mr.  Upjohn  with  much  in 
terest.  He  immediately  noted  down  such  directions  as  were 
necessary  to  lead  him  to  the  spot,  and  then  their  kind-hearted 
visitor,  after  inquiring  in  what  way  he  could  be  of  any  ser 
vice  to  them  now,  and  receiving  again  and  again  the  outpour 
ing  of  their  grateful  hearts  for  all  that  he  had  already  done, 
and  the  assurance  that  they  would  call  upon  him  when  they 
needed,  bade  them  a  good  night,  and  James  accompanied  him 
to  the  door. 

"  You  won't  forget  to  call  when  you  come  to  town,  Master 
James,  and  let  me  know  how  they  all  fare.  I  feel  much  con 
cern  for  your  blessed  mother,  and  those  dear  girls." 

And  the  old  man  let  go  the  hand  which  James  had  given 
him  at  parting,  and  wiped  away  a  tear,  more  precious  in  an 
angel's  eye  than  the  costliest  jewel  that  ever  decked  a  mon 
arch's  brow. 


CHAPTER  III. 

IT  was  a  dark,  chilly,  November  day  ;  the  clouds  were 
flying  fast  across  the  murky  sky.  and  strong  gusts  of  wind  at 
times  swept  along  from  the  northeast,  bending  the  tall  pop 
lars,  and  stretching  out  the  more  slender  branches  of  the 
sturdy  oak,  and  causing  the  forests  to  send  forth  a  murmuring 


TO    LOVE    AND    TO    BE    LOVED.  < 

sound,  as  though  spirits  of  evil  were  disturbing  their  lonely 
retreats. 

A  youthful  traveller,  dressed  in  rather  light  attire,  such 
as  would  be  more  suitable  for  the  streets  of  a  city  than  for 
exposure  to  such  a  tempest  in  the  open  country,  was  just 
emerging  from  a  small  wood  through  which  the  highway  led  ; 
and.  as  he  did  so,  a  country  village  of  no  great  size,  but  of 
rather  a  pleasant  aspect,  opened  before  him.  The  spire  of  a 
well-conditioned  country  church  first  appeared,  shooting  up 
in  pure  white,  and  towering  above  the  maples  and  willows 
which  gracefully  concealed,  for  the  most  part,  the  building 
itself ;  and  on  either  side  of  the  street,  at  intervals,  for  some 
distance,  could  be  seen  respectable  dwellings,  many  of  which 
were  superior  to  the  average  of  country  habitations. 

The  day  was  drawing  to  a  close,  and  it  was  with  no  little 
self  gratulation  that  the  youth  found  himself  so  near  the 
termination  of  his  ride ;  he  was  on  horseback,  and,  as  large 
drops  of  rain  began  to  accompany  the  gusts  of  wind,  he 
spurred  up  his  beast  into  a  canter,  casting  his  eye  upon 
each  tenement  as  he  passed,  in  search  of  the  tavern  sign 
which  he  knew  must  be  somewhere  at  hand. 

Upon  a  large  elm,  whose  giant  branches  hung  far  over 
the  highway,  creaking  on  its  rusty  hinges  as  it  swayed  back 
wards  and  forwards  at  the  sport  of  the  winds,  he  soon  espied 
this  token  of  shelter  and  welcome.  His  horse  committed  to 
the  stable-boy,  and  himself  warmed  and  refreshed  at  the 
crackling,  open  fire,  he  stepped  to  the  bar,  and  inquired  of  the 
landlord,  who  was  busily  engaged  stirring  the  toddy  stick 
for  some  thirsty  customers,  '•  Whether  he  could  direct  him 
to  the  residence  of  the  minister  of  the  place,  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Wharton  ?" 

"  The  parsonage  is  next  door,  sir,"  pointing  at  the  same 
time  through  an  end  window,  "  it  is  that  stone  building  you 
see  close  by." 

The  young  man  bowed  his  thanks,  and  immediately 
walked  to  the  window  and  surveyed  the  premises.  He  would 
scarcely  have  needed  to  make  the  inquiry,  if  he  had  not 
been  so  intent  upon  that  one  object  as  "he  rode  through  the 
village,  the  signboard.  The  building  bore  upon  its  aspect, 
iu  all  its  parts  and  accompaniments,  such  marks  of  sacred- 


28  TO    LOVE   AND    TO   BE    LOVED. 

ness  and  peace,  that,  had  its  name  been  engraven  on  its  front, 
it  could  not,  well,  have  been  more  readily  distinguished. 

It  was  a  stone  building,  as  the  landlord  had  said,  but 
stuccoed  with  a  dark  cement  that  gave  it  an  appearance  of 
great  age,  while  the  perfect  order  of  the  woodwork  about  it 
showed  that  it  had  been  well  guarded  against  the  ravages  of 
time  by  judicious  attention.  It  was  two  storied,  with  a 
small  back-building,  and  a  wing  on  one  side  in  front,  which 
no  one  could  mistake  for  any  thing  else  than  the^  kitchen  of 
the  establishment.  The  house  was  set  back  sufficiently  from 
the  street' to  secure  it  against  the  dust  of  the  traveller  and 
to  afford  a  neat  yard,  in  which  shrubs  were  plentifully  scat 
tered,  and  two  borders,  lining  the  paved  walk  from  the  front 
door  to  the  gate,  gave  tokens  of  summer  flowers  and  sweet 
perfume.  A  partition  fence,  the  same  with  that  which 
fronted  the  highway,  separated  this  inclosure  from  the 
kitchen  yard,  so  that  nothing  unsightly  met  the  eye  in  front 
of  the  main  building.  Large  trees  encircled  it,  and  their 
deep  shadows  added  much  to  the  sombre  aspect  it  presented, 
at  the  same  time  foretelling  cool  and  refreshing  shade  from 
summer's  mid-day  sun. 

The  young  man  surveyed  the  premises  awhile,  and  then 
leaving  the  tavern,  walked  directly  to  the  parsonage. 

A  neatly  dressed  domestic  opened  the  door  at  his  sum 
mons,  and  ushered  him  at  once  into  the  sitting-room,  and 
the  presence  of  the  reverend  gentleman  and  his  lady.  The  for 
mer  immediately  arose  from  his  seat  before  the  fire,  and  bow 
ing  very  gracefully,  added  his  pleasant  smile  to  that  of  his 
partner,  who  had  already  greeted  the  stranger.  The  young 
man  had  been  affected  by  the  external  appearance  of  the 
house,  and  was  prepared  to  judge  favorably  of  persons  and 
things  within  doors :  he  was  not  disappointed. 

If  there  is  a  station  in  society  involving  responsibilities 
the  most  delicate  and  interesting — responsibilities  that  em 
brace  in  their  hold  on  human  sympathy  all  interests,  both 
for  this  world  and  the  next,  it  is  the  station  of  one  who  has 
for  many  years  been  the  pastor  of  a  country  parish :  and  if 
there  is  an  object  of  true  moral  beauty,  combining  in  itself 
the  sublime  and  the  pleasing,  it  is  the  daily  course  of  such  a 
faithful  servant  of  the  Most  High,  now  dropping  a  word  of 
counsel  into  the  ear  of  some  wayward  youth,  now  soothing 


TO   LOVE   AND   TO   BE    LOVED.  29 

the  irritated  feelings  of  some  neighbor  who  has  called  to  tell 
his  tale  of  injuries,  real  or  imaginary  ;  now  binding  in  bonds 
of  holy  union  those  who  wish  to  cast  their  lot  in  life  together ; 
now  at  the  sick-bed,  bending  with  melting  heart  over  one  long 
known  and  loved,  and  feeding  the  flickering  spirit  with  a  few 
crumbs  of  angel's  food ;  now  wiping  away  the  tears  that 
cannot  be  repressed,  because  a  widow  and  her  little  ones  are 
depositing  in  the  narrow  house  their  love  and  their  stay ; 
and  then,  as  the  shadows  of  evening  gather  round,  retiring 
to  his  little  sanctuary,  there  to  bear  before  his  Father,  his 
Master,  his  God,  the  cares,  the  pains,  the  sicknesses,  the  diffi 
culties,  the  varied  interests  of  those  who  had  received  his 
attention  through  the  busy  scenes  of  the  day.  Such  scenes 
and  duties,  fully  entered  into,  cannot  fail  to  affect  even  the 
personal  bearing  of  an  individual,  and  to  throw  around  many 
deficiencies  in  the  outer  man  a  sweet  halo  ;  much  more,  when 
a  commanding  form,  a  benevolent  and  manly  countenance, 
peculiar  neatness  in  dress,  and  accomplished  manners,  add 
their  mite  to  the  holy  influence. 

As  Mr.  Wharton  bowed  to  the  young  stranger,  he  might 
have  been  well  taken  as  the  personification  of  his  office  ;  there 
was  such  a  calm,  easy,  dignified  manner,  that  was  in  perfect 
keeping  with  his  appearance.  His  stature  a  little  above  the 
common  height,  well  proportioned,  almost  robust,  and  yet 
without  any  approach  to  grossness;  his  face  full,  and  scarcely 
furrowed  by  age ;  his  forehead  fair  and  smooth,  and  the  thin 
powdered  locks  that  but  faintly  covered  his  foretop,  falling 
carelessly  upon  its  edge.  His  features  open  and  manly  ;  and 
although  of  a  serious  cast,  yet  apparently  ready  for  a  smile. 
From  the  crown  of  his  head  to  the  buckle  that  glistened  on 
his  polished  shoe,  there  was  a  perfect  harmony  in  the  whole. 

If  the  young  man  was  struck  with  the  appearance  of  the 
reverend  gentleman  into  whose  presence  he  had  been  ush 
ered,  equally  so  was  the  latter,  with  the  gentlemanly  address 
and  pleasant  countenance  of  the  youth  ;  he  was  somewhat 
excited,  and  the  color  that  mantled  his  cheeks  just  then, 
could  hardly  be  said  to  be  natural ;  his  dark  hair,  almost  a 
raven  black,  offered  a  strong  contrast  to  the  high,  pale  fore 
head  from  which  it  was  thrown  carelessly  back,  and  his  keen 
black  eye  had  an  expression  of  sadness,  not  usual  at  the 
light-hearted  age  of  eighteen.  The  very  easy  and  benevo- 


30  TO   LOVE   AND   TO   BE   LOVED. 

lent  manner  in  which  he  was  received,  at  once  removed  the 
embarrassment  manifest  on  his  entrance. 

"  I  address  the  Rev.  Mr.  Wharton,  I  presume,  sir ;"  Mr. 
Wharton  bowed  low.  "  If  you  will  excuse  the  liberty  of  a 
perfect  stranger.  I  wish  to  make  a  trifling  inquiry  ;  I  am  in 
search  for  a  house  in  some  country  village,  as  a  place  of  resi 
dence  for  my  mother  and  two  sisters,  and  although  there  is  no 
one  here  with  whom  we  are  acquainted,  yet  from  what  I  have 
learned  of  the  place,  I  think  my  mother  will  be  satisfied 
with  it.  I  have,  therefore,  taken  the  strange  liberty  of  mak 
ing  an  application  to  you.  Is  there  a  probability,  sir,  that 
I  could  procure  a  place  ?" 

Mr.  Wharton  did  not  reply  immediately,  but  turning 
his  eye  from  the  young  man,  it  met  that  of  his  lady,  who  at 
once  put  down  her  knitting. 

':  If  the  white  cottage  was  only  good  enough,  Mr.  Whar 
ton  ?" 

He  shook  his  head.  "  It  would  hardly  answer,  my  dear, 
for  a  family  that  had  been  accustomed  to  city  .life." 

"  If  the  house,  sir.  is  only  at  such  a  convenient  distance 
from  the  place  of  worship,  so  that  my.  mother  could  walk 
there,  we  should  not  be  particular  about  other  things,  for  it 
is  from  motives  of  economy  that  we  are  about  to  change  our 
residence." 

Mr.  Wharton  looked  steadily  at  the  youth  as  he  said  this, 
and  his  heart  began  to  warm  towards  him  ;  he  had  been  struck 
with  his  personal  appearance  on  his  entrance,  and  this 
acknowledgment  of  straitened  circumstances,  made  so  off 
hand  and  manly,  excited  at  once  his  noble  and  generous  mind  ; 
his  countenance  assumed  immediately  that  blandness  which 
was  its  most  natural  expression,  and  the  tones  of  its  voice 
were  softened  as  he  replied  : 

'•  There  can  be  no  objection  on  the  score  of  its  distance 
from  our  place  of  worship,  and  I  think,  with  a  few  trifling 
repairs  it  might  answer  your  purpose.  But  we  .shall  not  be 
able  to  visit  the  place  this  evening ;  make  yourself  a.t  home 
with  us  to-night,  and  in  the  morning  I  shall  be  happy  to 
accompany  you  to  it." 

The  young  man  arose,  and  bowing  politely,  "  I  could 
not  think,  sir,  of  thus  encroaching  upon  your  hospitality. 
I  have  left  my  horse  at  the  tavern,  and  feel  that  I  have 


TO    LOVE    AND    TO    BE    LOVED.  31 

taken  a  great  liberty  in  even  making  the  inquiries  I 
have." 

"  By  no  means,  by  no  means,  sir.  And  if  you  have  no 
particular  objections,  I  should  rather  steem  it  a  favor,  than 
otherwise,  for  there  are  many  questions  I  wish  to  ask  about  the 
city,  and  a  visitor  from  there  is  a  treat  at  this  season  of  the 
year." 

"  Your  horse  will  probably  fare  better  than  you  would  ; 
our  tavern  is  not  just  what  we  could  wish,  so  you  must  per 
mit  me  to  add  my  earnest  request  to  my  husband's,  and  be 
sides,  you  know,  as  a  lady,  I  may  be  indulged  in  a  little 
curiosity.  If  we  are  to  be  neighbors,  it  is  right  that  we 
should  get  somewhat  acquainted." 

The  young  man  could  not  resist  this  united  plea ;  he 
blushed  deeply,  and  seemed  hesitating  as  to  the  propriety  of 
resuming  his  seat,  when  Mrs.  Wharton,  smiling  in  her  most 
winning  manner,  continued  :  "  You  know  visitors  are  not  apt 
to  be  so  plenty  as  when  the  warm  weather  drives  our  friends 
from  the  city,  and  perhaps  you  may  be  acquainted  with  some 
of  them?" 

"  I  fear  not,  madam.  Since  our  residence  in  the  city, 
circumstances  have  prevented  us  from  forming  acquaintances ; 
we  scarcely  can  be  said  to  have  made  any.r 

"  Then  you  have  not  been  long  in  New-York?" 

''  But  three  years,  madam." 

The  storm  now  commenced  in  earnest,  and  beat  furious 
ly  against  the  windows ;  the  prospect  without  was  cheerless 
indeed,  and  the  young  man  began  to  congratulate  himself 
that  he  was  not  exposed  to  its  fury  on  the  road.  The  strong 
contrast,  too,  which  the  scene  within  presented,  was  not  lost 
upon  him,  and  in  spite  of  his  feelings,  as  a  stranger  in  a  strange 
place,  he  began  to  enjoy  the  tokens  of  comfort  with  which  he 
was  surrounded.  The  cheerful  fire  blazed  briskly,  in  the 
Franklin  stove ;  illuminating  its  black  and  poKshed  sides, 
and  showing  the  little  figures  with  which  it  was  ornamented 
in  all  their  glossy  beauty,  while  from  the  brazen  andirons  and 
fender,  and  tongs  and  shovel,  and  from  every  little  hook  and 
knob,  were  bright  rays  dancing  off  and  enlivening  the  hearth- 
scene.  And.  as  he  cast  his  eye  around,  every  article  of 
furniture,  whether  of  wood,  brass,  marble,  or  silver,  was  throw- 


32  TO    LOVE    AND   TO   BE    LOVED. 

ing  oft'  from  its  bright  surface  the  lively,  dancing  light  which 
the  crackling  blaze  sent  forth. 

There  are  spots  in  this  varied  world  of  ours,  like  oases  in 
the  desert,  where  sweet  sights,  sweet  odors,  and  sweet 
sounds,  throw  upon  the  senses  their  united  influence,  charm 
ing  the  wearied  spirit  to  repose,  causing  it  to  forget  the  trials 
of  the  past,  and  renewing  its  strength  for  the  onward 
struggle. 

To  many  a  wearied  sojourner  had  this  humble  dwelling 
proved  a  resting  place  for  the  heart.  The  neatness  and  order 
that  were  displayed,  even  in  the  most  trifling  matters,  the  air 
of  calm  and  dignified  enjoyment  that  was  so  manifest  in  the 
countenances  and  deportment  of  that  reverend  pair,  the 
spirit  of  love  that  flowed  forth  in  words,  and  tones,  and 
manners,  perfuming  like  the  breath  of  spring,  the  very  atmo 
sphere  around  them  all,  like  a  potent  spell,  entranced  the 
spirit,  hushed  its  angry  heavings,  and  soothed  it  into  humi 
lity  and  peace. 

To  this  youth  such  an  influence  was  all  powerful ;  he  felt 
it  stealing  over  him  each  moment  in  sweeter  and  stronger 
bands.  The  world  looked  brighter  to  him  than  it  had  done 
for  months  or  years. 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  Mr.  Wharton,  "  did  I  understand 
aright?  is  your  name  Edwards?" 

Mr.  Wharton  had  been  walking  about  the  room,  as  was 
his  custom,  and  looking  out  occasionally  upon  the  driving 
storm ;  while  his  lady,  in  her  mild  and  pleasant  way.  was 
drawing  out  from  the  young  man  such  relations  of  his  family, 
as  were  consistent  with  delicacy,  and  a  strong  desire  to  know 
more  of  those,  whose  representation  had  made  such  a  favora 
ble  impression  on  her  mind. 

"  Yes,  sir,  James  Edwards."  Mr.  "Wharton  took  his  seat 
and  eyed  the  youth  with  an  earnestness  that  was  almost 
painful  to  hjrn. 

"  And  did  you  say  that  your  father  came  from  the  South  2 
from  what  part  of  the  South  ?" 

"  From  North  Carolina,  sir." 

"  May  I  ask  you  his  first  name  ?" 

"  John  T.  Edwards,  of  Pine  Grove." 

Mr.  Wharton  laid  his  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  the  young 
man. 


TO    LOVE    AND   TO   BE    LOVED.  33 

"Are  you  a  son  of  John  T.  Edwards  ?  Was  you]  /ather 
ever  at  Yale  College  ?" 

"  He  was  there,  sir,  two  years  ;  but  I  have  heard  Aim  say 
that,  at  the  death  of  my  grandfather,  he  was  obliged  to  return 
home,  and  take  charge  of  the  estate." 

Mrs.  Wharton  had  laid  down  her  knitting,  and  seemed  to 
be  equally  excited  with  her  husband,  as  though  some  strange 
development  were  at  hand. 

"  Mr.  Wharton,  can  it  be  ?  is  it  so?  that  this  is  a  son  of 
your  old  friend?" 

"  My  dear  son,"  said  Mr.  Wharton,  taking  the  hand  of  the 
youth  in  both  of  his,  "  is  it  so  ?  Yes,  it  must  be,  I  see  your 
father's  bright  eye  and  raven  hair ;  how  has  this  come 
about !  Who  has  directed  you  to  me  ?  Welcome,  a  thou 
sand  times  welcome." 

Young  Edwards  was  deeply  affected  ;  a  rich  glow  suffused 
his  naturally  pale  features,  and  he  returned  the  cordial  greet 
ing  of  Mr.  Wharton  with  a  warmth  that  showed  how  much 
his  heart  felt  this  unexpected  recognition  by  one  who  had 
been  his  father's  friend. 

There  were  now  a  thousand  questions  to  be  asked  and  an 
swered,  and  the  calm,  blue  eye  of  Mr.  Wharton  was  more 
than  once  suffused  with  a  tear  as  he  listened  to  the  recital 
of  the  dark  trials  which  had  clouded  the  latter  years  of  one 
whose  youth  was  so  bright  and  prosperous. 

"  You  can  little  imagine,  my  dear  young  friend,  what  feel 
ings  this  interview  excites.  Did  you  never  hear  your  father 
mention  an  act  of  kindness  which  he  did  for  a  classmate 
•when  in  college  ? 

"No,  sir,  never." 

"  That  would  be  just  like  him.  He  was  a  noble-hearted 
man,  but  his  true  character  was  understood  by  very  few. 
Did  he  retain  in  his  later  years  a  peculiar  hauteuj  in  his  in 
tercourse  with  strangers?" 

"  He  was  very  reserved,  sir,  to  all  with  whom  he  was  not 
on  terms  of  closest  intimacy,  and  even  in  his  family,  had  we 
not  all  known  that  his  feelings  of  affection  were  of  the  strong 
est,  most  tender  kind,  his  peculiar  manner  might  have  been 
misunderstood." 

'•  Exactly  so ;  he  did  not  probably  have  many  associates  ?" 

"  I  may  almost  say  none,  sir." 


34  TO   LOVE    AND   TO    BE   LOVED. 

"  So  I  snould  have  expected,  and  yet,  perhaps,  no  man 
ever  possessed  a  warmer  heart,  or  one  more  susceptible  to 
the  strongest  ties  of  friendship  ;  the  first  time  that  I  saw 
him  was  about  one  week  after  he  took  his  seat  in  the  class  at 
college ;  we  were  in  the  same  division  of  the  class,  and  were 
seated  together  ;  there  was  something  in  his  appearance  that 
attracted  my  notice,  although  his  cold  and  formal  bow,  as  he 
took  his  place  beside  me  at  recitation,  without  the  slightest 
relaxing  of  his  stern  countenance,  and  the  dogged  staidness 
of  his  deportment  affected  me  rather  unpleasantly,  and  was  in 
such  strong  contrast  with  those  on  either  side  of  us,  that  for 
some  time  I  felt  his  presence  to  be  irksome.  I  judged  him  to 
be  extremely  sensitive,  and  was,  therefore,  constantly  in  dread 
lest  the  thoughtless,  though  good-natured  levity  of  those  imme 
diately  about  us,  might  produce  an  outbreak  on  his  part, 
that  would  inevitably  bring  on  him  the  ill  will  of  all.  Form 
ing  the  opinion  I  did  of  him.  and  which  happened  to  be  a 
correct  one,  I  presume  my  manner  towards  him  was  regu 
lated  thereby ;  I  did  not  fear  him,  for  we  were  about  equal 
as  scholars,  but  I  studiously  avoided,  from  feelings  of  deli 
cacy,  whatever  might  give  him  dissatisfaction.  I  also  no 
ticed  that,  as  he  shunned  society,  others  also  avoided  him. 
He  was  alone  in  the  midst  of  the  multitude." 

James  was  looking  intently  at  Mr.  Wharton,  listening  with 
thrilling  interest  to  the  peculiarities  in  his  father's  early  life, 
when  the  last  remark  deeply  affected  him. 

"  And  that  may  be  said  of  him,  especially  for  these  few 
years  past ;  my  father " 

But  the  endearing  name  was  yet  too  tender  a  remem 
brance,  under  his  present  state  of  excitement.  He  could 
proceed  no  farther.  Mrs.  Wharton's  sympathizing  heart 
was  fully  waked  up,  the  more  so  as  she  perceived  the  manly 
efforts  of  the  youth  to  suppress  the  strong  feelings  that  were 
struggling  for  vent. 

"Of  course  I  never  intruded  myself  upon  him,  but,  as 
my  own  circumstances  kept  me  from  engaging  in  many  of  the 
frivolities  of  college  life,  and  in  some  measure  to  seek  retire 
ment.  I  fancied,  at  times,  that  Mr.  Edwards  felt  more  com 
placently  towards  myself  than  he  did  to  any  others.  On  one 
occasion,  I  remember,  he  invited  me  to  his  room,  and  once 
or  twice  he  did  me  the  honor  to  seek  my  assistance  in  a  dim- 


TO   LOVE    AND   TO    BE    LOVED.  35 

cult  problem ;  to  me  he  was  civil  and  gentlemanly ;  to  others 
distant,  though  polite. 

u  In  our  second  year,  a  sudden  blow  came  upon  me.  My 
father  was  utterly  ruined  in  business,  and  I  received  infor 
mation  that  I  must  return  home,  and  seek  some  other  calling. 
It  was  a  moment  of  agony.  I  had  maintained  somewhat  of 
a  distinguished  station  in  the  class.  I  was  intensely  anxious 
to  complete  my  course ;  all  other  employment  appeared  like 
drudgery  of  the  most  painful  kind,  and,  to  crown  my  calam 
ity.  I  was  in  arrears  to  a  considerable  amount,  not  having 
for  the  last  term  received  any  remittances,  and  the  letter 
which  had  just  come  to  hand,  contained  only  money  sufficient 
to  pay  my  expenses  home. 

';  Disappointed,  mortified,  and  almost  hopeless,  I  shut  my 
self  up  and  made  apologies  of  indisposition  for  non-appear 
ance  at  recitations.  Many  of  my  class-mates  dropped  into 
my  room  in  the  course  of  the  day.  but  to  none  of  them  could  I 
unbosom  myself,  and  when  the  evening  began  to  close  in,  I 
was  almost  in  a  frantic  state.  There  was  a  gentle  tap  at  my 
door — your  father  entered — a  kindly  smile  was  visible  to  me. 
He  accosted  me  in  friendly  tones,  such  as,  until  then,  I 
should  never  have  expected  from  him.  He  had  seen,  at  the 
first  glance,  that  some  trouble  was  upon  me. 

"  I  am  not  apt,"  said  he,  "  to  intrude  myself  upon  my 
friends — nor  do  I  wish  to  do  so  now  ;  but  excuse  me  for  inquir 
ing  if  some  peculiar  trouble  does  not  at  present  agitate  you  ?" 

There  was  so  much  sincerity  in  his  whole  manner,  that 
I  could  not  resist  the  impulse,  and  at  once  unburdened  my 
mind.  He  said  but  little,  yet  the  few  sentences  he  uttered  went 
to  my  heart.  After  remaining  a  short  time  he  left  me.  and 
very  soon  the  porter  of  the  college  handed  me  a  letter.  It  was 
from  your  father.  It  contained  not  more  than  half  a  dozen 
lines,  merely  informing  me  that  the  inclosed  amount  was 
what  he  could  spare  with  perfect  convenience,  until  such 
time  as  I  might  be  able  to  return  it — it  contained  two  hun 
dred  dollars." 

The  trembling  tones  in  which  Mr.  Wharton  closed  his 
narrative,  showed  with  what  deep  feelings  he  had  treasured 
up  this  generous  act.  Young  Edwards  arose  and  walked  to 
the  window  ;  his  soul  was  on  fire.  He  knew  his  father's  no 
ble  spirit.  The  world  had  never  known  him ;  it  had  looked 


36  TO    LOVE    AND   TO   BE   LOVED. 

coldly  upon  him,  but  his  ear  had  heard  the  living  testimony 
of  one  who  realized  his  worth,  and  had  felt  his  generosity. 

The  fountains  burst  forth  ;  they  had  been  sealed,  even  to 
his  heart's  better  aching,  in  the  presence  of  the  multitude, 
but  now  they  would  not  be  restrained ;  and  other  tears  were 
flowing  fast,  than  those  of  that  devoted,  noble  boy  ;  and  love, 
pure  and  true,  was  gushing  forth  its  feelings,  and  the  heart 
of  him  who  came  there  as  a  stranger,  was  made  to  feel  the  joy, 
the  comforting  assurance  of  strong  and  enduring,  friendship. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

IT  is  an  easy  matter  with  a  few  dashes  of  a  pen,  even 
a  poor  one,  to  accomplish  a  mighty  deal  of  work,  to 
change  residences,  build  houses,  set  people  in  love,  get  them 
into  trouble  and  out  of  it ;  but  each  operation,  in  its  actual 
performance,  has  many  concomitants ;  many  agents  must  be 
employed,  and  as  one  event  in  this  shifting  life  either  leads 
to  another  or  has  proceeded  from  another,  it  will  not  always 
answer  to  dash  on  from  point  to  point  in  the  story  of  human 
affairs,  without  sometimes  entering  into  particulars,  both  of 
character  and  agency,  that  we  may  see  more  clearly  the 
mutual  dependence  of  effect  and  cause. 

When  such  an  operation  as  the  removal  of  a  family  into 
the  country  is  to  be  performed,  it  cannot  be  accomplished 
without  time  and  patience,  or,  at  least,  it  could  not  be  at  the 
time  when  the  scenes  which  my  story  narrates  took  place. 

It  was  then,  and  is  now,  a  very  easy  matter  to  send  for 
a  cartman.  and  order  him  to  take  certain  articles  down  to  a  cer 
tain  slip,  and  place  them  on  board  a  certain  vessel,  bound  to 
such  a  place,  and  to  sail,  wind  and  weather  permitting,  on 
such  a  day.  But  the  sailing  of  said  vessel,  and  the  time  she 
would  reach  the  place  of  her  destination,  were  very  doubtful 
matters  forty  years  ago. 

James  had.  at  the  urgent  request  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Whar- 
ton,  taken  his  mother  and  sisters  immediately  to  the  parson 
age.  It  was  a  sweet  relief  to  their  torn  and  sensitive  spirits, 
to  exchange  the  city,  with  its  associations,  now  so  painful  to 
them,  for  that  quiet  resting  place  ;  amid  warm  and  congenial 


TO    LOVE   AND   TO    BE   LOVED.  37 

feelings  to  enjoy  the  sweets  of  sympathy,  and  revel  in  the 
interchange  of  pure  and  exalted  friendship,  to  hold  com 
munion  with  those  whose  hearts  opened  wide  to  receive  them, 
to  talk  of  him  whose  clouded  day  had  passed,  but  whose 
memory  was  embalmed  in  thoughts  that  blessed  his  noble 
spirit. 

There  is  in  every  village,  almost  without  exception,  some 
one  active  and  stirring  body,  whose  business  it  seems  to  be 
to  do  up  all  the  odds  and  ends  that  must  be  done  by  somebody. 

Generally,  this  personage  is  one,  upon  whom  his  own 
cares  and  duti  s  hang  rather  loosely.  He  keeps  a  pair  of 
wild,  daring  horses,  and  is  ever  on  the  drive,  from  "pillar 
to  post,"  and  seldom  home  but  at  meal  times. 

The  village  in  question,  however,  was  served  in  this  respect 
by  a  very  different  sort  of  character.  Mr.  Timothy  Tightbody 
kept  the  only  store  in  the  place.  He  was  a  man  well  to  do  in 
the  world.  He  had  worked  his  way  from  very  small  beginnings 
to  quite  a  respectable  station  in  society.  Early  in  life  he 
had  left  his  home  by  the  bonnie  banks  of  Doon,  and  acting 
ever  on  the  principle,  that  "  mony  mickles  mak  a  muckle," 
had  found  himself,  at  length,  able  to  purchase  his  present 
stand  and  stock  of  goods. 

Mr.  Timothy  Tightbody  carried  his  economical,  thriving 
principles  into  his  new  business,  and  as  he  took  good  care  of 
his  shop,  that,  very  soon,  began  to  take  good  care  of  him. 
He  was  a  thickset,  little  man,  of  rather  prepossessing  coun 
tenance,  with  a  sprightly  way  of  speaking,  and  just  enough 
of  Scottish  accent  to  give  piquancy  and  force  to  it.  He 
was  well  versed  in  all  the  proprieties  of  life,  and  had  a  win 
ning  way  with  him,  that  took  well  with  all  classes.  To  Mr. 
Wharton,  he  failed  not  to  pay  the  utmost  deference,  being 
always  the  first  to  aid  in  such  duties  as  the  parish  owed  to 
their  minister,  and  punctually  attendant  upon  all  the  services 
of  the  Sabbath.  How  far  the  spiritual  advice  of  the  good 
pastor  was  attended  to  by  Mr.  Timothy,  we  will  not  pretend 
to  say;  but  he  was  always  in  his  seat,  never  slept  during  the 
sermon,  and  was  sure  to  be  just  opening  his  pew  door  as  Mr. 
Wharton  passed  down  the  aisle ;  and  there  was  then  such  a 
cordial  grasping  of  the  hand,  and  such  earnest  inquiries 
after  the  health  of  Mr.  W.  and  his  good  lady,  as  was  quite  a 
lesson  to  all  who  witnessed  it. 


38  TO    LOVE    AND   TO   BE    LOVED. 

Mr.  Timothy  was,  just  now,  a  widower,  and,  as  he  often 
said,  "had  neither  chick  nor  child."  A  young  man  that  as 
sisted  him  in  the  store ;  an  old  colored  woman  who  kept  his 
house,  with  a  '•  young  black  varmint,"  as  he  called  a  negro 
boy,  that  was  forever  committing  some  blunder,  constituted 
his  household. 

Mr.  Timothy  had  a  pair  of  fine  horses,  and  a  very  respec 
table  barouche,  in  which  he  sometimes  nourished  on  extra 
occasions.  But  the  barouche  was  seldom  drawn  out  of  its 
resting  place ;  a  good  lumber  wagon  served  his  turn,  gen 
erally,  and.  like  all  Mr.  Timothy's  establishment,  was  turned 
by  him  to  very  good  account.  It  served  to  bring  and  carry 
goods  from  and  to  the  landing,  which,  being  at  some  distance 
from  the  centre  of  the  village,  it  became  a  matter  of  great 
convenience  to  that  vicinity. 

Mrs.  Edwards'  goods  had  been  placed  on  board  a  sloop 
and  were  daily  expected.  Mr.  Timothy  had  been  applied  to 
by  Mr.  Wharton  for  aid  in  bringing  them  to  the  white  cot 
tage  the  moment  the  vessel  should  arrive.  Mr.  Timothy 
had  also  called  and  conversed  with  Mrs.  Edwards  on  the 
subject.  He  had  seen  her  two  lovely  daughters,  and  had 
made  one  of  the  most  polite  bows  which  he  ever  remembered 
to  have  made,  as  he  took  his  leave.  Mr.  Timothy  was  much 
elated  ;  it  was  an  era  in  his  being.  .  Never  before  had  he 
come  in  contact  with  such  feminine  sweetness ;  and  many 
animating  thoughts  excited  his  rather  susceptible  heart. 
"  These  were  to  be  his  neighbors  ;"  "  he  would  doubtless  have 
many  opportunities  of  doing  them  a  kindness  ;"  "  he  would 
have  the  privilege  of  waiting  upon  them  at  his  thriving  es 
tablishment,  measuring  off  yards  of  ribbon,  and  supplying 
et  ceteras  of  nice  things,  such  as  would  be  suitable  for  per 
sons  of  their  standing."  For,  although  Mr  Timothy  knew 
of  their  reduced  circumstances,  yet  he  was  a  man  who  strong 
ly  believed  in  degrees  of  rank  in  this  lower  world,  which 
depended  not  on  the  mere  dollars  and  cents.  High,  very 
high  on  the  scale  did  he  place  the  widow  and  her  daughters. 
The  son  he  had  not  yet  seen. 

Time  brings  along  events  at  last,  and  so,  in  days  long 
gone  by.  sloops  would  get  to  their  port  of  destination,  but 
oftentimes  not  without  a  sad  wear  upon  the  patience.  In  the 
present  instance  the  delay  was  a  matter  of  small  moment  to  the 


TO    LOVE    AND   TO    BE    LOVED.  39 

good  people  at  the  parsonage,  either  to  the  visitors  or  their 
obliged  entertainers,  for  the  latter  certainly  appeared  to  feel, 
and  doubtless  did  so.  that  the  favor  was  all  done  to  them.  It 
was  a  sunny  hour  to  them  all ;  one  of  friendship's  holy  com 
munion,  where  hearts  were  opened  in  their  truth  and  beauty, 
and  sweetly  read  by  each,  until,  in  one  strong  bond  of  love, 
they  were  fastened  for  the  rest  of  life. 

But  Mr.  Timothy,  to  use  a  homely  phrase,  "  was  on  the 
tenter-hooks  ;"  day  after  day,  had  he  watched,  with  an  eagle 
eye,  for  the  white  sail  of  the  long-expected  craft ;  and  when 
it  was  at  length  seen,  winding  its  tortuous  way  through  the 
long  stretch  of  meadows,  he  found  that  it  was  too  late  in  the 
afternoon  to  hope  that  his  important  commission  could  be 
accomplished  until  the  following  morning. 

Mr.  Timothy  was  an  early  riser,  and  tried  hard  to  bring 
his  "  family "  into  the  same  commendable  habit ;  but  old 
Bet  was  never  in  a  hurry  to  go  to  bed,  and  equally  as  disin 
clined  to  use  expedition  in  the  morning.  Pomp  was  always 
ready  with  his  "  yes  massa  "  as  soon  as  he  was  called,  but  it 
often  amounted  to  nothing  further  until  the  same  call  had  been 
repeated  some  several  times.  This  morning,  Mr.  Tightbody 
had,  however,  succeeded  in  getting  master  Pomp  to  his  "  wide 
awake  senses  "  just  as  the  gray  dawn  was  tinging  the  eastern 
sky.  It  was  not  very  light  in  the  stables,  but.  as  every  thing 
there  was  kept  in  its  right  place,  it  mattered  not. 

"  Oh,  you  precious  villain,  see  here  !"  Mr  Tightbody  made 
this  exclamation  on  passing  by  the  side  of  his  favorite  horse, 
and  feeling  his  head  gear.  "  You  rascal,  how  is  this  ?  You 
imp  of  the  old  one,  look  hers ;  the  whole  blessed  night  has 
the  poor  beast  been  standing  on  his  legs." 

Master  Pomp  made  his  appearance  from  under  the  other 
horse,  and  letting  his  under  lip  fall,  stared  somewhat  wildly 
at  his  master. 

Pomp  was  rather  an  odd-looking  specimen  of  humanity, 
somewhere  between  seventeen  and  thirty  years  of  age ;  it 
being  a  difficult  matter  to  determine,  by  looking  at  him,  to 
which  of  the  periods  he  ought  to  be  assigned.  He  was  short, 
and  rather  thickset,  with  very  large  features ;  his  eyes,  and 
nose,  and  mouth,  and  the  whole  apparatus  of  a  head,  seemed 
to  have  been  designed  for  a  tall  frame.  The  first  impres- 


40  TO   LOVE    AND   TO    BE    LOVED. 

gion  on  a  stranger  was,  that  he  was  on  his  knees  or  had  lost 
his  legs.  He  was,  however,  to  use  his  own  expressive  term, 
"  a  whole  nigger ;"  the  body,  legs  and  arms  were  all  there, 
and  the  head  part  and  parcel  of  the  concern. 

Pomp  was  verily  confounded ;  he  saw  the  dilemma  in 
which  the  poor  horse  had  been,  but  not  the  most  distant  re 
collection  had  he  of  having  done  the  deed. 

"  He's  been  playing  me  a  trick,"  was  Pomp's  next  thought. 
Pomp  had  a  strong  religious  belief,  but  it  was  all  of  the  dark 
kind.  It  affected  him  when  in  the  dark.  The  spirits,  in 
whose  power  he  believed,  were  dark  spirits ;  he  never  ex 
pected  any  help  from  them,  his  only  idea  being,  that  their 
chief  aim  was  to  do  him  a  mischief,  or,  as  he  said,  to  git  a 
poor  nigger  into  trouble.  All  the  evil  that  happened  to  him 
he  charged  to  their  account ;  all  his  wrong-doings,  especially 
if  found  out,  he  laid  upon  their  shoulders,  and  if  at  any  time 
an  extraordinary  event  took  place  which  brought  him  into 
trouble,  without  his  being  able  to  see  exactly  how  he  was 
to  blame  for  it,  he  had  a  ready  solution  for  the  difficulty. 

"  He!s  been  a  playin'  me  a  trick."  Who  Pomp  meant  by 
He,  was  best  known  to  himself.  He  never  spoke  his  name, 
but  evidently  considered  him  Captain-General  of  evil  doers 
and  evil  doings. 

"  Don't  look  at  me,  you  thundergust ;  look  here  at  your 
doings ;  the  horse  tied  tight  to  the  ring  of  the  rack,  and  not 
a  bit  could  he  lie  down  the  blessed  night.  Aint  you  a  pre 
cious  villain  ?  and  won't  I  finger  you  !" 

Pomp  was  somewhat  startled  by  the  tones  of  his  master's 
voice ;  the  names  he  called  him  by,  being  rather  household 
terms,  were  matters  of  indifference  to  him  ;  the  tones  were 
decidedly  sharp.  Pomp  pulled  hard  upon  the  wool ;  he 
must  do  something  to  start  the  ideas  ;  he  began  to  remem 
ber  a  little  of  what  had  passed  the  previous  day. 

"  Me,  massa,  me — no,  no — me  no  'member  tyin'  Tom  dat 
way — somebody  else.  Me  no  'member  'bout  it,  massa,  'tall — 
when  Tom  come  home  last  night  ?" 

Mr.  Timothy's  ideas  began  to  collect  themselves.  He  had 
been  out  late  with  the  horse ;  he  had  called  at  Mr.  Whar- 
ton's,  and  he  now  remembered  having  put  the  horse  in  the 
stable  himself,  not  caring  to  disturb  the  slumbers  of  Master 
Pomp,  who  was,  after  all,  quite  a  pet  with  his  master. 


TO    LOVE   AND   TO    BE    LOVED.  41 

Why  he  had  fastened  the  beast  in  such  an  unusual  man 
ner  was,  however,  beyond  the  clear  comprehension  of  the  good 
man. 

Mr.  Timothy  had.  for  a  few  days  past,  begun  to  hold  his 
own  head  up.  He  was  anxious  to  appear  to  the  best  advan 
tage,  to  make  the  most  of  himself.  Perhaps  some  such 
thoughts  were  passing  his  mind  while  tying  his  steed ;  he 
was  much  puzzled,  however,  to  account  for  the  act. 

The  recollection  of  matters,  at  once  softened  his  feelings 
towards  Pomp. 

"  Well,  Pomp,  never  mind  it  now,  my  boy ;  finish  cleaning 
the  horses,  and  give  them  a  good  polish,  do  you  hear  ?" 

':  Yes — will — massa." 

Pomp  was  again  at  his  work,  rubbing  away  for  dear  life. 

There  are  some  days  in  this  checkered  life  of  ours,  when 
every  thing  goes  with  a  hitch  and  a  check.  It  generally  hap 
pens  on  some  busy  day  ;  we  seem  to  be  under  the  influence 
of  nightmare.  We  would  go  very  fast;  the  urgency  of  the 
case  demands  it,  but  we  are  constantly  meeting  with  pull 
backs,  and  often,  under  such  circumstances,  the  faster  we 
drive  the  less  speed  we  make. 

This  may  be  set  down  as  one  of  Mr.  Tightbody's  unlucky 
days ;  there  were  unexpected  hinderances  continually  com 
ing  up,  but  he  had  finally  overco'me  all  obstacles,  and  was 
ready  for  a  start.  And.  as  he  expected  to  have  considerable 
handling  to  do,  Master  Pomp  was  summoned  as  an  accompa 
niment. 

It  was  rather  a  cool  morning,  and  Pomp  was  chilly  ;  he 
had  therefore  "  saw  to  it,"  and  arrayed  himself  in  an  outer 
coat,  which  had  been  in  its  day  a  plump  little  garment,  that 
fitted  well  to  the  person  of  his  master.  It  looked  rather 
baggish  on  the  present  weafer,  but  it  suited  the  head.  Pomp 
was  not  particular ;  he  had  turned  the  cuffs  up  to  let  his 
hands  out,  and  it  offered  no  obstruction  to  the  full  play  of 
the  legs.  Mr.  Tightbody  was  about  to  object  to  the  singu 
lar  appearance  which  his  valet  made,  but  Pomp  stowed  him 
self  away  in  the  bottom  of  the  wagon,  and,  as  his  head  only 
was  visible,  was  allowed  to  pass  muster. 

His  own  person  Mr.  Timothy  had  attended  to  with  more 
than  usual  care  ;  he  might,  in  the  course  of  the  morning,  see 


42  TO    LOVE    AND   TO    BE   LOVED. 

some  "  good  company,"  and  lie  wished  to  appear  as  a  man 
should. 

Never  did  the  horses  behave  better  ;  they  held  their  heads 
up  as  though  the  spirit  of  their  master  possessed  them  ;  and 
as  they  passed  the  Parsonage  put  on  some  of  their  best  airs,  so 
that  Mr.  Timothy  had  much  ado  to  restrain  their  excited  feel 
ings.  After  passing  the  mansion  which  just  then  affected  the 
little  man  with  so  much  interest,  the  horses'  heads  were  grace 
fully  turned  from  the  highway  into  a  narrow  road  which  led 
directly  to  the  landing.  They  had  proceeded  but  a  short 
distance,  probably  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  when,  by  some  caper, 
one  of  the  horses  got  his  head  under  his  fellow's  rein.  By 
dint  of  much  pulling  and  coaxing  Mr.  Tightbody  succeeded 
in  bringing  them  to  a  halt,  and  Pomp  was  ordered  out  to  fix 
things  straight. 

As  I  have  said,  this  was  one  of  Mr.  Timothy's  unlucky 
days. 

Wishing  to  return  two  empty  flaxseed  casks  by  the  sloop 
from  which  he  was  to  receive  the  goods,  he  had  placed  them 
in  the  wagon.  Being  a  careful  man,  the  heads  had  been  re 
placed  as  soon  as  the  casks  were  emptied,  and,  as  Mr.  Tight- 
body  said,  were  as  tight  as  a  drum.  On  one  of  these  casks 
he  had  packed  himself,  and  had  felt,  not  only  quite  elevated, 
but  perfectly  secure. 

Just  as  Pomp  had  succeeded  in  putting  things  to  rights, 
and  was  leaving  the  horses'  heads,  he  heard  a  slight  noise3  and 
turned  quickly  towards  the  wagon. 

"  My  golly  !  !  !" 

Pomp  looked  around  him  on  every  side,  but  no  master 
was  to  be  seen ;  he  stuck  his  arms  akimbo,  dropped  his 
under-jaw,  and  opened  his  eyes  to  their  widest  stretch.  He 
was  utterly  confounded. 

"  My  golly  !  where  massa  ! !  !" 

A  deep,  hollow  call  reached  his  ear — 

'•  Help — help — Pomp — quick  !" 

"  He's  got  him.     My  golly  !  massa  gone  case." 

Pomp  started  off  to  one  side  of  the  road  ;  again  the  voice 
called  :  it  seemed  further  off  still — 

"  Pomp.  Pomp,  help  !  help." 

Pomp  could  stand  it  no  longer.  The  sudden  disappear 
ance  of  his  master;  the  call  for  help,  as  if  from  under 


TO    LOVE   AND   TO   BE    LOVED.  43 

ground,  all  convinced  him  of  the  catastrophe.  His  turn 
might  be  next. 

'•  Massa  gone  case,  sure  'nuf." 

Pomp's  legs  had  full  play,  and  they  travelled  off  with  a 
speed  equal  to  the  extremity  of  the  case. 

Mr.  Tightbody  had  not  gone  lower  than  the  bottom  of 
the  flax-seed  cask ;  it  was.  however,  low  enough,  in  the  posi 
tion  that  he  entered  it.  to  hide  all  that  was  mortal  of  him. 
The  tallest  among  us  would  make  but  small  show  in  the 
world  doubled  up  like  a  slapjack,  and  could  \>e  stowed  away 
in  no  very  large  apartment ;  but  Mr.  Tightbody  was  not  tall, 
as  I  have  said.  Once  in,  he  was  fully  absorbed,  and  as  help 
less  as  Jonah,  in  the  whale's  belly.  The  horses  were  restless 
beasts,  and  no  sooner  was  Pomp  away  from  their  heads,  and 
well  on  his  race,  than  they  started  likewise.  Mr.  Tightbody 
felt  that  they  were  going,  and  might,  firmly  anchored  as  he 
was.  have  held  on  to  the  reins  with  a  tight  purchase.  But  here 
was  a  difficulty,  he  had  but  one  hand  at  liberty ;  the  other 
happened  to  be,  at  the  moment  of  his  descent,  in  a  hind 
pocket,  and  there  it  had  to  remain,  and  the  reins  had  been 
slackened,  the  better  to  assist  Master  Pomp  in  fixing  the 
horses.  He  felt  them  gathering  speed ;  in  fact,  they  were 
taking  matters  into  their  own  hands,  or  heels,  and  where  he 
or  they  would  land  was  an  uncertainty,  not  very  pleasant  to 
anticipate  ;  he  knew  that  the  road  he  was  upon  soon  led  over 
two  bridges  that  crossed  the  creek  in  its  windings,  and 
neither  of  them  protected  by  railings  ;  and  he  thought  of 
many  things  that  are  apt  to  be  kept  out  of  mind  in  the  com 
mon  run  of  life.  In  fact,  there  was  a  rush  of  feeling,  such 
as  the  poor  man  had  never  experienced  before. 

Just  as  Pomp  started  on  his  race,  a  young  man  sprang 
over  the  fence  from  an  adjoining  field,  and  made  rapid 
bounds  towards  the  wagon.  He  had  witnessed  the  scene 
through  an  opening  in  the  bushes  that  lined  the  road,  but 
had  not  been  observed  by  either  Pomp  or  his  master.  Fear 
ing  if  he  attempted  to  seize  the  horses'  heads  he  should  give 
them  an  alarm  that  would  only  increase  the  difficulty,  ho 
made  directly  for  the  hind  end  of  the  wagon ;  he  was  within 
a  few  feet,  and  grasped  at  the  hind-board,  but  a  sudden 
spring  of  the  horses  took  it  beyond  his  reach. 

''  Help,  help  !  I'm  a  dead  man.     Pomp,  help,  quick." 


44  TO   LOVE    AND   TO   BE    LOVED. 

Excited  by  the  cries  from  the  helpless  man,  the  youth 
made  a  desperate  effort ;  he  felt  that  the  life  of  a  human 
being  depended  upon  his  success.  One  leap  more,  and  he 
seized  the  board ;  his  feet  in  an  instant  flew  from  under  him, 
for  the  horses  were  at  their  speed  ;  but  his  grasp  was  strong 
and  his  arm  nerved  with  the  vigor  of  youth,  and  the  desire 
to  rescue  the  sufferer  from  his  deadly  peril ;  a  few  efforts 
more  and  he  was  within,  and  the  reins  grasped  by  a  skilful 
hand.  Without  any  fear  himself,  he  soon  managed  to  calm 
the  apprehensions  of  the  beasts,  who  were  beginning  to  be 
alarmed  at  their  unrestrained  speed.  As  soon  as  he  had 
brought  them  to  a  halt,  he  cast  his  eye  down  upon  the  suf 
ferer,  who  also  looked  up  piteously  to  him.  They  were 
strangers  to  each  other. 

"  The  blessing  of  all  things  be  upon  you.  for  a  brave 
heart  and  a  true  hand.  I  was  a  dead  man  but  for  your  aid, 
my  young  gentleman." 

"  Have  a  little  further  patience,  my  good  sir,  until  I  un- 
tackle  the  horses,  for  they  are  much  excited." 

It  was  the  work  of  but  a  few  moments,  for  the  young 
man  was  no  novice  at  such  business.  The  horses  were  re 
leased  from  the  wagon  and  fastened  to  the  fence,  and  a  fair 
prospect  was  now  opened  for  the  deliverance  of  Mr.  Tight- 
body.  Many  expedients  were  thought  of  by  both  parties,  and 
the  only  feasible  one  seemed  to  be  that  of  rolling  the  cask 
on  its  side,  with  its  cargo  of  humanity,  and  by  some  means, 
not  very  obvious  just  then,  helping  him  to  work  his  way  out. 

Mr.  Tightbody  found  it  no  easy  thing,  with  all  the  assist 
ance  the  young  man  could  give  him,  the  work  of  the  latter 
being  to  keep  the  head  and  feet  as  near  together  as  possible 
until  the  whole  carcass  had  been  withdrawn,  when  he  lay 
stretched  straight  out  upon  the  bottom  of  the  wagon,  taking 
long  breaths  and  making  sundry  short  exclamations,  the  pur 
port  of  which  not  very  easily  defined.  Starting  up.  finally, 
from  his  prostrate  position,  he  cast  his  eye  around,  as  if  to  . 
take  the  bearings  of  his  whereabouts,  and  speaking  very  de 
liberately, 

"  Can  you  tell  me,  my  young  gentleman,  have  you  seen 
any  thing  of  a  black  varmint  that  was  by  the  horses  wheu 
this  spree  came  on  ?" 

"  I  saw  something  black,  sir,"  said  the  young  man.  smi- 


TO    LOVE    AND    TO    BE    LOVED.  45 

ling,  "  making  rapid  strides  towards  the  village ;  he  has  pro 
bably  gone  for  help." 

';  The  black  scoundrel !  and  a  pretty  story  he'll  make  of 
it.  But  may  l  take  the  liberty  of  asking  the  name  of  one 
who  has  been  so  serviceable  to  me  1  you  must  be  a  stranger, 
I  take  it,  in  these  parts?1' 

"  I  am  a  stranger,  sir,  having  but  recently  come  to  the 
village  ;  my  name  is  Edwards — James  Edwards." 

Mr.  Timothy  was  utterly  confounded ;  what  an  unfortu 
nate  circumstance  !  but  he  must  make  the  best  of  it. 

"  Edwards  !  What !  not  a  son  of  that  excellent  lady  who 
is  about  to  settle  among  us  ?" 

"  I  am  the  son  of  Mrs.  Edwards,  sir,  and  am  very  happy 
that,  in  my  ramble  over  the  fields,  I  happened  to  be  in  this 
vicinity,  and  thereby  so  fortunate  as  to  be  of  service  to  one 
to  whom  our  family  will  be  neighbors." 

"  And  right  proud  and  happy  am  I,  sir,  in  the  prospect 
of  such  an  event,  and  shall  hope  to  prove  my  gratitude  to 
you,  my  young  gentleman,  before  we've  done  with  one 
another.  I  am  not  the  man  to  forget  a  kind  act.  Will  you 
ride  to  the  landing  with  me,  Mr.  Edwards  ?  it's  a  fine  morn 
ing,  and  the  beasts  are  in  good  heart." 

"  I  was  on  the  point  of  asking  the  favor,  sir.  Your  ser 
vant,  I  believe,  is  returning ;  at  least,  I  think  yonder  is  the 
boy  who  left  you  so  suddenly." 

Mr.  Timothy  answered  not ;  he  looked  in  the  direction  to 
which  the  young  man  pointed,  satisfied  himself,  doubtless,  as 
to  the  identity  of  Master  Pomp,  and  also  of  the  fact  that  he 
had  been  for  help,  for  a  man  was  walking  beside  him,  and 
both  were  making  haste  towards  the  wagon  ;  and  then  spring 
ing  to  the  horses,  began  with  all  haste  to  tackle  them. 

The  surprise  of  Pomp  on  beholding  his  master  in  the 
breathing  world,  safe  and  sound,  was  very  manifest  in  his  be 
wildered  look.  It  was  all  hocus-pocus  to  him ;  but  he  said 
nothing,  for  his  master  had  given  him  an  expressive  shake  of 
the  head,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Very  well,  my  gentleman, 
you've  done  it ;  never  mind." 

Mr.  Tightbody  was  well  acquainted  with  the  person 
whom  Pomp  had  brought  along,  and  he  was  one  to  whom  he 
felt  little  inclined  to  be  under  obligations.  He,  therefore, 
assumed  a  very  indifferent  air,  as  though  nothing  had  hap- 


46  TO   LOVE   AND   TO   BE    LOVED. 

pened,  called  Pomp  to  "jump  in,"  cracked  his  whip,  and  was 
off,  leaving  the  man  in  no  little  astonishment  at  the  whole 
affair. 

The  ride  was  as  agreeable  now  as  a  ride  could  be.  Mr. 
Tightbody  became  quite  enamored  with  his  new  acquaint 
ance,  for  James  had  not  only  proved  himself  a  skilful  man 
ager  of  horses,  but  when  work  was  on  hand,  manifested  a 
readiness  to  take  hold  that  was  very  satisfactory  to  the  mind 
of  Mr.  Tightbody ;  and  a  few  days  after,  in  speaking  of  him 
to  a  person  of  some  consequence  in  the  village,  he  did  it  with 
much  emphasis. 

"  He's  a  true  gentleman  born  and  bred,  that  any  man 
can  see ;  and  he  is  not  afraid  nor  ashamed  to  put  his  shoul 
der  to  the  work  when  it  is  on  hand  to  do." 

As  things  go,  this  opinion  of  Mr.  Tightbody  was  of 
some  consequence,  and  it  may  prove  so  to  our  hero. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THERE  are  many  noble  sentiments  cherished  in  the  heart, 
which  are  never  brought  to  light  in  real  life,  because  the  en 
ergy  necessary  to  carry  them  into  effect  is  wanting.  A  few 
untoward  circumstances  are,  in  most  cases,  sufficient  to  damp 
en  the  zeal  and  put  an  end  to  the  finest  suggestion. 

To  quit  ourselves  like  men  in  the  great  contest  on  the 
field  of  life,  we  must  keep  our  eye  fixed  on  the  goal  to  which 
our  hopes  aspire,  amid  all  the  obstacles  that  obstruct  our 
way,  and  through  all  the  windings  to  which  necessity  compels 
us. 

James  Edwards  had  accomplished  one  part  of  the  plan  in 
reference  to  his  mother  and  sisters.  He  had  procured  for 
them  a  dwelling  in  a  retired,  country  village,  and  he  had 
attended  them  to  their  new  abode,  and  assisted  in  arranging 
the  few  articles  of  furniture,  which  they  had  reserved  from 
the  general  sale.  He  had  introduced  them  to  kind  friends, 
and  when  he  left  them  to  seek  a  living  for  himself  and  them, 
rich  were  the  tokens  of  love  he  had  received  from  those  dear 


TO    LOVE   AND    TO    BE    LOVED.  47 

ones  of  his  heart,  and  strong  was  his  confidence,  that  he 
should  soon  send  tidings  of  good  to  relieve  their  anxiety,  and 
prove  his  ability  to  accomplish  what  his  true  heart  had  de 
vised. 

Those  of  my  readers  who  have  been  long  acquainted  with 
the  city  of  New-York,  will  remember,  in  the  upper  part  of 
what  was  once  Sugar-loaf  street,  some  distance  from  Broad 
way,  houses  were  not  quite  as  plenty  as  they  now  are.  And 
perhaps,  on  a  fine  afternoon  in  the  fall  of  the  year,  some 
of  them  may  have  taken  a  game  of  ball  there,  and  sometimes 
have  been  obliged  to  climb,  over  the  piles  of  boards,  which 
belonged  to  a  lumber-yard  near  by,  in  search  for  the  missile, 
which  some  unlucky  blow  had  sent  in  the  wrong  direction. 

Near  to  this  lumber-yard  stood  a  small  wooden  building, 
back  from  the  street,  and  almost  hidden  by  a  high  board 
fence  running  parallel  with  it,  and  on  a  range  with  the  two- 
story  brick  bouses,  which  commenced  at  some  distance  from 
Broadway.  In  this  fence  was  a  gate,  or  door,  generally  open, 
and  the  passer-by  would  be  almost  sure  to  give  a  second  look 
as  the  rural  aspect  of  the  place  attracted  his  eye  ;  for  there 
were  a  few  shrubs  scattered  around,  and  the  premises  were 
always  neat  and  orderly.  Over  the  gate  was  a  little  tin  sign, 
bearing  the  inscription,  "  Boots  and  shoes  mended  here  by 
J.  Upjohn." 

As  the  dwelling-house  in  which  Mr.  Edwards  lived  was 
not  far  from  the  described  premises,  James  had  become  ac 
quainted  with  the  family,  by  stopping  in  occasionally  to  take 
advantage  of  the  handiwork  of  Mr.  Upjohn. 

The  pleasant  manners  of  the  boy  won  the  good  will  of  the 
old  man,  and  often  when  at  leisure,  James  found  it  an  agree 
able  place  to  stop  and  chat  for  an  hour.  He  was  always 
made  so  welcome,  and  there  was  such  an  air  of  comfort  by 
the  fireside  of  this  little  family,  and  each  one  had  so  much 
to  say  to  him  in  their  homely,  pleasant  way,  that  with  the 
exception  of  his  own  home,  he  knew  no  place  so  agreeable. 

Mr.  Upjohn  was  a  native  of  New  Jersey — a  plain,  unas 
suming,  sensible  man,  who  worked  diligently  through  the 
day,  but  who  would,  for  no  consideration,  put  his  hand  to 
his  awl  after  candle-lighting;  he  was  fond  of  reading,  and 
fond  of  arguing,  and  sometimes  a  little  too  positive  in 
expressing  an  opinion,  and  then  in  adhering  to  it ;  but  with 


48  TO    LOVE    AND    TO   BE    LOVED. 

something  of  a  bluntness  of  manner,  not  always  agreeable,  he 
possessed  a  kindness  and  gentleness  of  heart,  which  few  could 
boast.  His  wife  was  an  amiable,  soft-hearted,  soft-spoken 
woman,  with  a  pleasant  countenance,  upon  which  there  could 
always  be  seen  the  light  of  a  smile.  Besides  this  couple, 
there  was  but  one  other  member  of  the  family — a  niece — 
•without  parents  or  other  kindred  nearer  than  those,  who  had 
taken  her  as  their  own.  They  loved  her  tenderly,  but  per 
haps  not  wisely.  Gertrude  had  some  wild  ways  with  her, 
which  should  have  been  corrected  when  a  child,  and  now, 
they  might  have  been  remedied  by  a  little  care  ;  but  the 
good  folks  did  not  realize  that  there  was  any  thing  out  of  the 
way. 

'•  Gritty  was  a  thought  giddy  ;  but  she  was  only  a  child." 

She  was  sixteen,  however,  and  rather  tall  of  her  age ; 
marks  of  beauty  were  already  developing,  and  gave  promise 
of  more  than  a  usual  share  of  that  dangerous  attendant. 
Her  flaxen  hair  had.  indeed,  been  too  light  to  please  the 
fancy  of  many,  but  it  was  evidently  assuming  a  browner 
tinge.  It  curled,  one  would  have  thought,  quite  enough, 
naturally,  butGitty  helped  it  along  a  little.  It  still  lay  in  a 
childish  manner  around  her  ears  and  down  upon  her  shoulders. 
Whatever  "fixing"  it  had  certainly  evidenced  much  taste; 
her  features  were  well  made,  forming  an  open,  joyous  coun 
tenance,  and  her  complexion  was  pure  and  bright. 

The  kindness  of  Mr.  Upjohn  during  the  sickness  and 
death  of  Mr.  Edwards  has  already  been  noticed,  and  when 
James  returned  to  the  city  and  called  according  to  his  pro 
mise,  he  was  welcomed  with  all  the  warm-hearted  interest  of 
near  relatives. 

"  And  now.  master  James,  I  hope  you  will  not  take  it 
amiss,  that  I  ask  you  to  tarry  with  us ;  we  are  poor  folks,  to 
be  sure,  but  what  we  have,  you  are  heartily  welcome  to.  and 
wife  can  fix  you  a  place  to  sleep  in.  not  quite  so  good  as 
you  have  been  accustomed  to.  but  it  will  be  clean,  that  I'll 
warrant,  and  may  be  you  will  rest  as  well  in  it,  as  in  some 
grander  place." 

As  Mr.  Upjohn  said  this,  his  wife  laid  down  her  needle 
work,  took  her  spectacles  off.  and  with  a  look  of  earnestness, 
while  a  smile  played  over  her  honest  countenance,  spoke  as 
truly  as  looks  could  speak,  that  she  heartily  agreed  to  all  her 


TO    LOVE    AND    TO    BE    LOVED.  49 

husband  had  said ;  while  Gritty  pulled  one  of  her  long  curls, 
and  blushed,  and  manifested  by  many  restless  signs,  that  it 
also  met  her  decided  approbation. 

James  felt  the  kindness  of  the  offer,  and  the  color  that 
mantled  his  pale  cheek,  and  the  moistening  of  his  bright 
eyQ  clearly  indicated  how  much  he  was  affected  by  it.  A 
moment,  he  looked  at  the  honest  pair  in  silence,  and  they, 
from  their  hearts,  hoped  that  he  was  concluding  to  do  as 
they  desired. 

"  I  thank  you  most  truly,  my  dear  sir,  for  your  kind 
offer ;  I  should  be  happier  here,  now,  than  any  where  else 
in  this  great  city ;  it  seems  indeed  like  home  to  me ;  but 
you  know  that  my  plan  is,  with  all  expedition,  to  procure  a 
situation  where  I  can  be  earning  something.  The  only  busi 
ness  with  which  I  am  acquainted  is  that  which  will  qualify 
me  for  a  clerkship  in  some  merchant's  office ;  to  accomplish 
this.  I  must  be  where  I  can  meet  with  such  as  might  employ 
me.  You  know,  also,  how  strangely  destitute  I  am  of  friends, 
or  even  acquaintances,  who  could  -aid  or  recommend  me.  I 
must  form  acquaintances  for  myself.  I  must  be  among  those 
who  are  in  active  business,  and  have,  therefore,  engaged 
board  at  a  public  house  in  the  business  quarter  of  the  city." 

Mr.  Upjohn  felt  that  there  was  just  reasoning  in  what 
the  youth  spoke. 

.^  "  You  will  come  then  as  often  as  you  can  to  see  us,"  said 
Mrs.  Upjohn,  "and  let  us  know  how  you  get  along;  and  if 
at  any  time  we  can  do  any  thing  for  you  in  the  mending 
way,  just  bring  it  along,  and  if  the  work  is  too  fine  for  my 
old  eyes,  why  Gitty  will  be  proud  to  do  it." 

Gitty  became  very  restless ;  she  pulled  the  curls  harder 
than  ever,  and  smiled  until  her  beautiful  white  teeth  were 
fully  exposed  through  her  ruby  lips.  Gitty's  mouth  was,  to 
say  the  truth,  finely  formed,  and  gave  a  richness  to  the 
whole  expression  of  her  countenance. 

James  expressed,  as  well  as  he  was  able,  his  sense  of 
their  kind  offer.  It  was  to  his  young  heart  a  draught  from 
the  cup  of  life,  that  warmed  its  generous  throbbings  into  a 
glow  of  love.  At  the  very  threshold,  as  he  stepped  forth 
into  the  wide  world  of  strangers,  he  had  been  met  by  a  gen 
erous  sympathy.  It  was  a  bright  world  ;  he  knew  it  was ; 
there  might  be  dark  spots  in  it,  but  it  was  much  better  than 
3 


50  TO    LOVE    AND    TO    BE    LOVED. 

many  said  it  was,  better  than  he  himself  had  thought  it. 
And  as  he  left  those  humble  friends,  and  walked,  with  elastic 
step,  to  his  new  place  of  abode,  kind  faces  seemed  to  smile 
upon  him,  and  generous  hearts  seemed  ready  to  pour  out 
their  fulness  for  him,  in  all  the  hurrying  multitude  that 
passed  him  on  his  way. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

HOPE  is  a  mighty  power  within  the  fresh,  young  heart,  and, 
like  the  daring  chief  of  Macedon,  the  youth,  with  reckless 
ardor,  ventures  forth  upon  an  untried  region,  beneath  that 
soul-inspiring  banner,  with  scarce  the  meagre  ration  which 
that  hero  had.  Well  for  him  will  it  be,  if.  in  his- bright  and 
sunny  hour  of  life,  he  meets  not  with  those  blasting  storms, 
which  often  sweep  across  the  track  which  man  must  travel; 
when  his  heart  will  quiver  at  the  gathering  of  the  blood-red 
tempest,  and  his  limbs  falter  beneath  the  influence  of  .the 
poisoned  air,  and  his  banner,  torn  from  his  grasp,  go  with 
the  roaring  wind,  and,  on  the  weary  wilderness,  himself  lie 
down  a  hopeless,  human  wreck. 

Many  such  there  are.  We  meet  them  in  our  daily  walk. 
We  hear  of  them  in  our  daily  tidings  from  the  busy  world. 
We  heave  a  sigh,  perhaps,  or  drop  a  tear,  and  then  pass  on. 

A  situation,  such  as  James  sought  for,  is  not  so  easily 
obtained  as  persons  unacquainted  with  the  city  are  apt  to 
imagine.  Interested  friends  and  strong  recommendations 
are  often  needed  to  place  a^young  man  where  an  amount  of 
salary  is  paid  that  would  irTSke  it  desirable ;  and  especially 
are  these  necessary  when  a  stagnation  of  business  has  made 
clerks  abundant  and  places  scarce. 

The  pressure  of  such  a  trial  to  the  mercantile  commu- 
'  nity  was  felt  in  all  its  sad  realities,  with  full  as  much  severity 
as  it  had  been  for  months  past,  and  with  the  exception  of  the 
favored  few  who  were  beyond  the  chances  of  trade,  the  mass 
was  struggling  amid  difficulties  that  caused  many  a  sleepless 
night,  and  many  a  sad  and  silent  fireside. 

"  I  wonder  why  it  is,  wife,  that  James," — they  all  called 


TO    LOVE    AND    TO    BE    LOVED.  51 

him  James,  so  much  at  home  had  he  become  at  Mr.  Up- 
john's — "  I  wonder  why  it  is  that  James  has  not  been  here 
.for  now  more  than  two  weeks '?" 

"•  1  fear  the  poor  child  is  getting  discouraged  ;  he  seemed 
very  much  down-hearted  when  he  was  last  here.  I  guess  he 
finds  it  hard  to  get  a  place ;  and  aint  you  most  afraid, 
husband,  that  he  is  spending  all  his  money.  Poor  boy  !  you 
know  he  hadn't  much." 

"  I  met  him  last  evening,  aunt,  or  rather  I  passed  him  in 
Broadway  ;  he  looked  very  pale  and  thin.  I  was  almost  a 
mind  to  stop  and  speak  to  him,  but  I  didn't." 

Mr.  Upjohn  looked  a  moment  rather  sternly  at  Gritty, 
and  then  cast  a  significant  glance  towards  his  good  woman, 
as  much  as  to  say — ''  there,  wife,  there's  something  about 
that ;  you  had  better  see  into." 

"  And  where  did  you  say,  Gitty.  that  you  met  him  ?  in 
Broadway  !  I  thought  you  was  spending  the  evening  at 
Lydia's." 

"  Well,  so  I  was,  aunt,  but  you  see  we  girls  got  tired  of 
sitting  so  still ;  the  old  folks,  you  know,  are  rather  dull,  and 
w%  wanted  a  little  run." 

'  "What!  you  two  girls  alone,  Gritty?"  and  her  uncle 
looked  very  soberly,  as  he  said  this,  into  the  bright  fire. 
Gritty  gave  her  head  a  toss,  just  to  throw  the  curls  back 
where  she  would  have  them." 

'•  Oh.  you  know,  uncle,  Mr.  Jones  was  with  us;  he  stepped 
in  to  see  Lydia." 

Alas,  poor  uncle  !  he  knew  nothing  about  it ;  but  Gitty 
smiled  so  sweetly  at  him,  and  put  her  arm  so  playfully  upon 
his  shoulder,  that  whatever  severe  thing  he  may  have  de 
signed  to  say,  was  at  once  suppressed. 

'•  IJe  careful,  Gitty,  be  careful.  Jones,  did  you  say  ? 
Avhat  Jones  ?" 

?  "  Oh,  how  should  I  know,  uncle  !  but  Lydia  knew  him, 
you  see.  He  seems  to  be  a  clever  fellow,  any  how.  I  felt 
very  sorry,  though,  about  James,  and  meant  to  have  spoken  to 
you  about  him."  Gitty  was  very  anxious  just  then  to  turn 
the  thoughts  of  her  guardian  away  from  herself.  •  • 

"  I  think,  papa,  Mrs.  Upjohn  frequently  gave  this  title 
to  her  husband  for  the  reason,  perhaps,  that  there  were  no 


52  TO    LOVE   AND   TO    BE    LOVED. 

little  ones  to  call  him  so." — I  think,  papa,  you  had  better  go 
down  to-morrow  and  see  about  him." 

"  Not  to-morrow,  wife ;  there  is  too  much  work  on  hand, 
and  I've  promised  it  to  be  done ;  but  there  !  some  one  has 
opened  the  gate  ;  perhaps  he  is  coming  now." 

A  gentle  tap  at  the  outer  door  was  immediately  recog 
nized  as  his,  and  Gitty  arose  at  once  to  admit  him. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  James,  welcome,  right  welcome ;  take  a  seat. 
Gitty,  that  chair ;  how  has  it  been  with  you  ?  Draw  your 
chair  close  to  the  fire,  it's  a  chilly  evening." 

"  We  were  just  talking  about  you.  I  was  saying  to  Mr. 
Upjohn,  that  I  wished  he  would  walk  down  and  see  how  you 
got  along ;  do  you  know  it  is  more  than  two  weeks  since  you 
was  here?" 

James  had,  as  yet,  said  nothing  in  answer  to  either  of 
the  good  folks.  He  bowed  politely  to  them,  took  the  seat 
which  Gitty  placed  for  hinij  and  as  Mr.  Upjohn  requested, 
drew  it  a  little  nearer  to  the  corner.  The  bright  light  shone 
full  upon  him,  and  all  present  noticed  the  change  which  had 
passed  upon  his  countenance.  It  was  much  paler  than 
usual,  and  had  almost  a  haggard  look  ;  had  he  passed  through 
some  great  trouble,  it  could  not  have  worn  a  more  marked 
expression. 

"  You  have  not  been  well,  Master  James  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  oh  yes,  quite  well ;  I  had  a  slight  cold,  but  it 
has  passed  off." 

'•  It  seems  by  the  papers,  Ijhat  times  are  dull  among  the 
merchants  yet." 

"  So  it  appears,  sir,  very  dull ;  many  are  failing  and  all 
business  seems  to  be  at  a  stand ;  it  looks  dark  ahead." 

"  How  have  you  succeeded  in  getting  a  situation  ?  found 
one  to  your  mind  yet?" 

Mr.  Upjohn  asked  this  question  in  a  rather  indifferent 
manner;  he  had  not  much  hope,  from  the  aspect  of  things, 
that  it  could  be  answered  in  the  affirmative,  and  although  he 
was  painfully  anxious  that  it  might,  yet  he  wished  to  convey 
the  idea,  that  it  was  a  matter  hardly  to  be  expected  in  so 
short  a  time  and  under  existing  circumstances ;  his  kind 
.  heart  prompted  at  once  the  thought,  that  hope,  encourage 
ment,  must  ever  be  held  up  to  the  youthful  mind ;  let  these 
stimulants  be  withdrawn,  and  they  are  at  the  mercy  of  every 


TO    LOVE   AND   TO   BE    LOVED.  53 

difficulty.  James  answered  in  tones  that  spoke  a  stronger 
meaning  than  his  words. 

"  Xot  yet,  sir,  no ;  and  I  fear  very  much  that  I  must 
give  it  up."  Mr.  Upjohn  looked  steadily  at  the  fire  without 
expressing  any  surprise  or  exhibiting  any  emotion ;  he  saw 
clearly  that  the  poor  youth  was  under  intense  and  excited 
feelings. 

'•  I  have  heard  as  yet,  sir.  of  very  few  situations  ;  I  have 
applied  to  each  of  them,  but  without  success.  In  fact,  I 
have  about  given  up ;  one  place  I  might,  possibly,  have  ob 
tained,  but  they  wanted  recommendations  from  some  person 
with  whom  I  had  previously  lived,  and  that  you  know — " 

"  True,  true ;  that  might  be  a  difficulty  with  some,  but 
that  is  not  such  a  serious  one  after  all,  and  when  the  times 
change,  it  will  be  different." 

"  I  wish  I  had  a  good  trade,  Mr.  Upjohn — I  would  hard 
ly  care  what  it  was,  if  it  would  only  afford  me  an  honest  liv 
ing." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  James  !"  and  the  old  lady  put  her  spectacles 
on  the  table,  and  clasped  her  hands  together  on  her  lap — • 
"  how  you  do  talk  !  How  would  you  look  with  an  apron  on 
and  an  awl  in  your  hand,  and  a  last  strapped  over  your 
knee ;  or  may  be  with  a  trowel  dabbling  in  mortar,  or  a 
plane  and  a  saw  ?  You  wasn't  made  for  it." 

'•  I  was  not  brought  up  to  any  such  employment,  Mrs. 
Upjohn,  but  perhaps  it  would  be  much  better  for  me  now  if 
I  had  been." 

"  Every  one  for  their  calling,"  said  the  old  man,  rising 
and  putting  back  a  brand  that  had  fallen  on  the  hearth  ; 
"  we've  got  to  bide  by  that  which  we  have  been  brought  up 
to.  A  trade  is  a  good  thing,  that  is,  if  a  man  sticks  to  it. 
We  must  expect  to  live  plain,  to  be  sure ;  but  it  is  my  way 
of  thinking,  that  it  aint  much  matter  whether  we  live  in  a 
big  house  or  a  small  one,  so  as  we  bring  our  mind  to  our 
means.  A  man  can  be  very  happy,  even  if  he  lives  in  a 
poor  way.  Two  and  twenty  years  I  have  worked  on  my 
bench—" 

';  That  is,  by  daylight,  uncle." 

'•  Yes,  by  daylight,  you  hussy,  candle-light  was  never 
meant  to  work  by ;  and  besides,  I  expect  to  make  a  life  busi 
ness  of  it :  and  a  man  wants  something  for  his  mind  to  feed 


54  TO  LOVE  AN1J  TO  BE  LOVED. 

on  as  well  as  his  body ;  my  evenings,  I  like  to  spend  with  a 
book,  or  may  be  chatting  with  a  friend.  And  I  don't  know 
but  I  enjoy  my  fireside  as  much  as  some  who  live  in  grand 
er  style.  But  as  I  was  saying,  two  and  twenty  years  I  have 
worked  steady,  but  moderately,  at  my  trade,  and  we've  lived 
comfortably  in  our  way.  Many  whom  I  have  known  have 
gone  up  a  good  deal  higher ;  and  sometimes  I  have  felt  as 
though  some  other  occupation  would  have  been  better :  but 
when  changes  would  come  about,  and  people  were  tumbling 
down  from  their  high  places,  and  gray  hairs  were  covering 
heads  that  were  not  so  old  as  mine,  then  I  have  thought  that 
my  old  seat  was  about  as  safe  a  one,  and  as  easy  a  one'  as 
some  others ; — but,  as  I  was  saying,  we  must  follow  our  call 
ing." 

"  But  what  if  there  is  no  employment  in  that  calling,  Mr. 
Upjohn?  and  there  seems  to  be  none  in  mine,  or  none  that 
I  can  live  by  working  at." 

"  Well,  Mr.  James,  I  apprehend  your  difficulty;  but  you 
arc  not  alone.  There  always  will  be  these  reverses  in  busi 
ness  when  things  are  all  turned  heels  uppermost ;  merchants 
gloomy  and  sad,  many  of  them  broken  to  pieces  and  dis 
heartened,  and  not  knowing  where  to  get  bread  for  their  fa 
milies.  It  is  a  dark  time  now,  very  dark  ;  I  pity  those  who 
are  standing  on  a  pinnacle,  not  knowing  but  they  will  soon 
be  plunged  in  the  dark  gulf  which  lays  beneath  them.  I 
pity  them ;  but  a  man  must  put  on  a  good  courage,  and 
when  the  storms  are  about  him,  do  the  best  he  can.  Clear 
skies  will  come  again." 

James  listened  to  the  reasoning  of  his  old  friend.  It  might 
L(!  ;ill  well  enough,  but  to  his  sad  heart  no  encouragement 
was  of  any  moment  that  did  not  hold  out  the  prospect  of  im 
mediate  relief,  a  place  in  which  he  could  labor,  and  obtain 
food  for  those  dependent  ones  who  had  cast  themselves  upon 
his  feeble  arm. 

The  fact  was,  and  the  truth  may  as  well  be  told  at  once, 
James  had  reached  a  point  in  the  state  of  his  affairs  at 
which  he  must  come  to  a  stand,  and  look  forth  in  some  new 
direction  for  a  path  to  follow.  He  had  engaged  board  in  a 
public  house  much  frequented  by  merchants  and  merchants' 
clerks  ;  he  had  watched  every  new  advertisement,  and  made 
application  to  each  in  turn  ;  he  had  endeavored  to  become 


TO    LOVE   AND   TO    BE   LOVED.  55 

acquainted  with  young  men  already  employed,  and  who  might 
possibly  help  him  to  a  place,  but  all  in  vain.  The  small 
amount  of  money  which  had  been  left  from  the  sale  of  the 
furniture,  had  been  much  reduced  by  the  expense  of  removal, 
and  the  most  of  what  was  left,  he  had  from  necessity  taken 
with  him.  Some  weeks  had  passed  in  his  fruitless  effort ; 
and  his  funds  were  reduced  to  so  small  an  allowance  that  he 
had  only  sufficient  to  bear  his  expenses  for  another  week. 

Winter  was  at  hand,  too,  with  its  frosts  to  chill  the  heart, 
and  dry  up  the  streams  of  trade,  already  sluggish  and  shal 
low. 

He  was  possessed  of  strong,  even  violent  feelings.  Hith 
erto  the  effect  of  them  had  been  to  nerve  his  heart  with  the 
most  engrossing  tenderness  to  those  upon  whom  his  love  was 
placed,  and  its  outpourings  had  filled  those  dear  ones  with 
the  fondest  hopes,  and  the  most  affecting  consolations. 

But  his  very  strength  of  feeling  was  now  turning  in  upon 
himself,  and  working  upon  his  sensitive  spirit  with  a  power, 
that  would  soon  unfit  him  for  the  severe  and  manly  struggle 
in  which  he  had  engaged. 

It  conjured  up  before  him  all  the  dark  visions  of  the  past, 
only  to  throw  a  deeper  gloom  upon  the  stern  realities  of  the 
present.  With  a  sad  and  desolate  heart,  he  mingled  with 
the  busy  multitude  through  the  day,  and  retired  at  night  to 
his  sleepless  bed,  or  to  awake  from  troubled  dreams  to  the 
consciousness  of  his  dependent  and  unhappy  condition. 

No  wonder  if  a  change  was  so  manifest  on  his  youthful 
brow.  Alas  !  dear  youth ;  this  is  but  a  taste  of  the  bitter 
cup.  What,  think  you,  would  it  be  to  wring  out  the  dregs 
and  drink  them  ? 

There  are  more  evils  in  this  changing  scene  than  your 
young  heart  has  yet  imagined ;  and  yet  there  are  sweet 
draughts  too,  whose  potent  charms  steal  o'er  the  soul,  en 
trancing  it  with  pleasures  beaming  from  a  better  world,  and 
giving  rich  foretaste  of  what  it  may  yet  enjoy.  The  lights 
and  the  shadows,  the  sweet  and  bitter  draughts  are  appointed 
witli  a  wiser  aim,  and  for  a  better  end,  than  our  fancy 
fashions. 

While-  Mr.  Upjohn  was  engaged  in  his  homely  way.  giving 
true  and  manly  advice,  and  endeavoring,  to  cheer  up  the 
mind  of  young  Edwards,  Gitty  had  been  stirring  round  to 


56  TO    LOVE    AND    TO    BE    LOVED. 

some  purpose,  and  arranging  things  on  a  little  table  in  the 
centre  of  the  room. 

"  Come,  Master  James,  draw  up  your  chair.  Gitty.  you 
see,  has  been  getting  some  nic-nacs  for  us  ;  that's  the  way 
with  these  girls,  always  throwing  temptations  in  our  way  : 
move  up,  Master  James,  move  up." 

Gitty  had,  indeed,  gathered  quite  a  little  variety  of  good, 
things,  and  they  were  placed  upon  a  snow-white  cloth.  There 
was  a  plate  of  large  red  apples,  shining  like  rubies  ;  and  a 
dish  of  Kissketom  nuts,  well  cracked,  and  showing  abund 
ance  of  rich  meat,  and  another  plate  of  plump,  tempting 
doughnuts,  and  a  large  pitcher  of  spruce  beer,  with  the  foam 
rising  in  a  pyramid  upon  the  top.  Gitty's  eyes,  too,  were 
sparkling  with  delight,  and  Mrs.  Upjohn's  needles  flew  with 
astonishing  rapidity,  while  her  husband  almost  allowed  a 
smile  to  rest  upon  his  rigid  countenance. 

Scarcely  had  they  commenced  partaking  of  these  simple 
refreshments,  when  the  little  gate  was  heard  to  open,  and 
soon  there  was  quite  a  rap  at  the  door. 

Gitty,  as  was  her  custom,  immediately  caught  a  light  from 
the  table,  and  attended  the  summons.  As  she  opened  the 
door  a  young  gentleman,  fashionably  dressed,  was  standing 
on  the  step.  He  was  evidently  confounded  for  a  moment ; 
Gitty  began  to  think  he  had  made  some  mistake,  and  was 
just  putting  on  one  of  her  pretty  smiles,  such  as  play  around 
the  mouth  of  these  mischief-makers,  when  they  find  one  of 
the  sterner  sex  at  fault. 

The  young  man  felt  the  awkwardness  of  his  silence  ;  he 
saw  the  smile. 

"  Pardon  me,  Miss ;  I  was  directed  here  from  No.  — 
street,  as  the  place  where  I  should,  probably,  learn  something 
of  James  Edwards." 

"  He  is  here,  sir  ;  will  you  please  walk  in?" 

James  had  heard  his  own  name  mentioned,  and  imme 
diately  stepped  to  the  door.  It  was  Rudolph  Hunt. 

The  young  men  at  once  recognized  each  other. 

"  I  have  called  on  you.  Mr.  Edwards,  to  inquire  whether 
vou  have  yet  procured  a  situation." 

"  I  have  not.  sir  ;  will  you  walk  in  ?" 

He  accepted  the  invitation,  with  almost  too  much  readi 
ness  quite  to  satisfy  the  delicate  notions  of  Edwards,  for  he 


TO    LOVE    AND    TO    BE    LOVED.  57 

at  once  laid  down  his  hat,  and  threw  off  his  outer  coat. 
James  could  not  do  less  than  introduce  him  to  the  little  cir 
cle  ;  he  blushed  deeply  as  he  did  so,  however,  and  so  did 
Gitty,  who  threw  her  curls  back,  and  seemed  for  a  time 
quite  restless. 

'•  I  am  glad  to  hear,  Mr.  Edwards,  that  you  have  not  yet 
suited  yourself,  for  my  uncle  seems  now  quite  anxious  to  en 
gage  you.  I  say  my  uncle,  for  although  they  are  both  my 
uncles,  you,  no  doubt,  perceived  the  last  time  you  called,  that 
the  difficulty  was  only  with  one  of  them." 

"  I  should  be  very  sorry  if  his  objections,  whatever  they 
were,  have  been  overruled  by  any " 

"  Oh  !  it  has  all  been  of  his  own  will,  and  I  think  if  you 
will  call  to-morrow,  that  an  arrangement  will  be  made  satis 
factory  to  you." 

Header,  have  you  ever  bowed  down  under  the  burden  of 
care  ?  has  your  spirit  ever  agonized  beneath  the  load  that 
was  pressing  upon  it  ?  has  the  curtain  of  night,  not  sweet 
starlight  or  sweet  moonlight  night,  sparkling  in  beauty  above, 
or  spreading  its  mild  loveliness  in  your  path,  or  by  your 
sleeping  couch,  but  night,  drear  and  fathomless,  whose  deep 
drapery  has  wrapped  your  soul  in  gloom,  and  filled  it  with 
uncertain  horrors,  ever  enveloped*;  in  such  darkness,  have 
streaks  of  morning  suddenly  darted  through  the  gloom,  and 
from  such  a  burden,  has  some  kind  hand,  in  an  unexpected 
moment,  delivered  your  sinking  frame,  and  administered  a 
cordial  balsam  to  your  spirit ; — then  can  you  tell  what  change 
a  few  moments,  a  few  short  sentences  have  wrought  upon 
the  mind  of  this  lone  youth. 

There  was  much  lively  chatting  now,  around  that  humble 
board,  liudolph  Hunt  appeared  quite  at  ease  ;  he  had  much 
of  the  polish  of  the  gentleman,  but  to  Edwards,  who  had  a 
keen  sense  of  propriety,  his  freedom  of  manners  was  not 
agreeable,  and,  more  than  once,  James  felt  the  blush  warm 
ing  his  check,  at  what  he  thought  not  entirely  consistent 
with  the  conduct  of  one  so  lately  a  stranger.  Gitty  was, 
however,  highly  elated  ;  it  was  a  bright  evening  to  her ;  but 
well  for  her,  if  it  prove  not  the  beginning  of  sorrow. 


58  TO    LOVE    AND    TO    BE    LOVED. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

WHEN  Mrs.  Edwards  bade  adieu  to  James,  as  he  left  their 
new  abode  to  seek  his  fortune  in  the  great  city,  she  put  on  a 
cheerful  smile,  and  gas*'  him  such  words  of  encouragement 
as  she  felt  he  needed  for  the  serious  undertaking  upon  which 
his  mind  was  fixed.  But  her  heart  was  sad ;  she  indeed 
hoped  much  from  his  strong  resolution,  his  industrious  hab 
its,  and  his  virtuous  character ;  but  she  knew  more  of  the 
world  than  he  could  as  yet  possibly  know.  Hitherto  he 
had  not  been  beyond  a  parent's  roof.  He  had  not  come  in 
contact  with  those  ensnaring  influences,  which  meet  the 
young  in  our  large  cities,  and  draw  so  many  into  their  resist 
less  vortex.  She,  also,  knew  more  of  the  difficulties  which  he 
might,  and  doubtless  would,  have  to  contend  against.  But 
his  heart  was  full  of  hope,  and  she  could  not  bear  to  quench 
its  ardor,  or  to  throw  a  shadow  on  that  quickening  beam. 
Still  she  had  her  fears,  a  mother's  fears  ;  they  would  come  un 
bidden,  and  disturb  her  most  peaceful  moments.  She  knew 
that  James  had  noble  sentiments,  strong  filial  love,  and 
that  hitherto  his  pure  mind  seemed  .to  be  unsullied  by  one 
dark  spot;  but  how  would  he  conduct  when  left  without  a 
guardian  ;  when  the  sweet  influence  of  mother  and  sisters 
would  be  wanting,  and  his  ardent  temperament  should  come 
in  contact  with  the  allurements  of  the  city  ?  And  what 
would  life  be  worth  to  her  now,  should  he  prove  recreant  to 
the  high  character  he  had  hitherto  sustained  1  The  trem 
bling  spirit  could  alone  quiet  its  maternal  anxieties,  by  cast 
ing  the  loved  one  upon  the  care  of  an  unseen  Protector, 
Delightful,  however,  to  her  mourning  heart,  was  the  change 
from  the  bustling  city,  to  the  quiet  and  seclusion  of  the 
country.  In  the  heyday  of  life,  in  youth  and  prosperity,  the 
city  has  its  fascinations,  but  when  we  have  tasted  of  the  bit 
ter  cup,  or  have  become  wearied  with  chasing  the  retreating 
phantasies  of  life,  there  is  no  place  like  the  country.  Its 
noiseless  beauties  invite  the  soul  toward  its  great  Parent. 
The  freshness  of  its  pure  breezes  cools  the  burning  brain  and 
allays  the  fevered  pulse  ;  the  bright  loveliness  of  summer,  the 
bursting  life  of  spring,  the  waning  tints  of  autumn,  and  even 


TO    LOVE    AND   TO    BE    LOVED.  59 

the  storms  of  winter,  each  has  a  power  of  its  own  that  speaks 
to  the  heart,  that  strikes  its  finest  cords,  and  wakes  a  melody 
there  which  lulls  the  sufferer  to  sweet  repose. 

There,  too,  the  child  of  sorrow  meets  with  that  sweet 
sympathy  from  his  fellow  man,  which  in  vain  he  looks  for  in 
the  crowded  mart.  The  rich  man,  who  affects  the  pomp  and 
show  of  city  life,  and  thinks  by  the  glitter  of  his  wealth  to 
claim  that  homage  which  obsequious  multitudes  have  paid 
for  the  sake  of  his  favor  or  his  gold,  may  not  meet  with  it. 
Farmers,  in  our  happy  land,  tread  freely  on  their  own 
soil.  They  meet  the  city  millionaire  with  an  open  brow,  for 
they  fear  him  not ;  and  all  his  wealth  could  not  purchase 
one  single  favor  that  would  not  be  granted,  willingly,  to  the 
most  abject  being  that  dwells  in  their  neighborhood.  But  to 
the  downcast  sufferer,  from  whatever  cause,  there  is  ever  a 
ready  hand  and  a  feeling  heart  among  those  who  have  been 
reared  amid  the  suns  and  storms,  and  free,  pure  air  of  the 
country.  They  have  been  trained  to  feel  that,  when  trouble 
was  upon  a  neighbor,  it  was  their  business  to  be  doing  some 
thing.  When  the  swift  tempest,  or  the  unsparing  flame 
destroys  the  humble  dwelling  and  the  happy  home,  soon, 
like  a  Phoanix  from  its  ashes,  arises  another  and  a  better  in 
its  stead,  the  gift  of  many  hands,  poured  forth  willingly  into 
the  bosom  of  the  unfortunate  ;  and  when  the  dark,  walking 
pestilence  is  abroad,  and  sickness  and  death  do  his  bidding, 
no  hireling  watches  around  the  last  bed ;  those  who  have 
been  companions  in  the  work-field,  or  together  laughed 
lightly  at  the  festive  board,  are  watching  with  noiseless  tread, 
within  the  sick  chamber,  administering  with  their  own  hands 
to  every  want  and  weakness ;  and  when  death  has  done  his 
work,  they  still  are  there  performing  the  last  sad  offices, 
until  the  departed  one  is  laid  to  rest  in  his  long  home. 
These  and  a  thousand  nameless  acts  of  love  beget  a  fellow- 
feeling,  of  which  those  who  live  where  money  buys  all  ser 
vice  that  we  need,  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave,  know  nothing. 

Blest  rural  life  !  Thy  homely  fare,  thy  simple  pleasures, 
thy  manly  toil,  and  thy  calm  retreats,  may  be  despised  by 
the  flutterers  in  the  thronged  and  splendid  mart ;  but  keep 
to  thy  plain  and  homeborn  virtues,  maintain  thy  jealousy  of 
pomp  and  state,  nor  ever  covet  the  glittering  tinsel  that,  at 
times,  flashes  across  your  quiet  path ;  could  you  see  the 


60  TO    LOVE    AND   TO   BE   LOVED. 

aching  hearts  it  covers,  you  would  love  your  inheritance  the 
better. 

Mrs.  Edwards  had  been  reared  among  the  gay  and  fash 
ionable,  but  long  had  she  withdrawn  from  these,  and  sought 
her  joy  alone  in  the  smile  of  him  to  whom  her  heart  wa3 
given.  Her  husband's  home  became  her  festal  hall,  and 
there  she  reigned  sole  queen  of  those  she  loved.  That  home 
has  passed  away,  like  all  other  visions,  and  now  she  finds 
herself  the  centre  of  deep  responsibilities,  and  with  a  frail 
and  uncertain  prospect,  even  of  a  scanty  subsistence.  But 
the  even  tenor  of  her  placid  mind  is  undisturbed  ;  with  the 
same  dignified  and  graceful  step,  she  walks  within  the  lowly 
cottage,  as  when  she  trod  the  stately  mansion  in  former  days. 
The  same  mild  beauty  sheds  its  loveliness  around  her,  and 
the  same  soft  tones  fall  sweetly  on  the  ears  of  her  children, 
or  those  new  friends  and  neighbors,  whose  constant  kind 
nesses  she  experiences  and  warmly  prizes. 

The  fruition  of  our  hopes  is  often  delayed,  so  far  as  we 
can  judge,  only  to  make  the  blessing  more  truly  realized,  and 
our  hearts  more  happy. 

A  lonely  winter  day  had  just  come  to  a  close,  and  Mrs. 
Edwards  and  her  daughters  were  surrounding  their  little  ta 
ble  before  the  fire,  and  plying  their  busy  needles. 

"  I  fear,  mother."  said  Mary,  turning  her  full  lustrous 
eyes  up  from  her  work,  "  that  James  will  be  obliged  to  yield 
to  stern  necessity,  and  come  home  to  us,  disappointed  and 
chagrined." 

"  It  may  be  so,  my  dear  ;  I  have  had  my  fears  all  along, 
and  yet  I  cannot  but  hope  he  may  be  spared  that  trial." 

"  What  would  he  do,  dear  mother  ?  His  mind  has  been 
so  fixed  and  his  confidence  so  strong  ;  oh  !  how  I  do  feel  for 
him.  It  is  no  trifling  thing  to  be  poor." 

"  It  is  not,  my  dear ;  a  state  of  dependence  involves  in 
its  contingences  scenes  of  deep  and  terrible  suffering." 

"  I  should  feel  worse,  mother,  to  have  brother  come  back 
disappointed,  than  if  we  were  all  obliged  to  live  on  a  mere 
crust  of  bread  and  a  drink  of  water." 

"  We  all  should,  Julia,  and  it  is  such  a  trial,  as  that 
would  be,  which  gives  to  coming  poverty  its  sharpest  pang ; 
it  is  not  the  fear  that  we  shall  not  have  bread  and  water,  or 
that  the  home  which  shelters  us  will  be  rude  and  small,  but 


TO    LOVE    AND    TO    BE    LOVED.  61 

it  is  the  crushing  of  fond  hopes,  the  blasting  of  noble  and 
just  intentions,  the  disabling  of  a  mind  whose  views  are  pure, 
from  carrying  out  its  grand  idea  and  accomplishing  an  ex 
alted  end." 

"  Mother,  will  you  read  his  last  letter  again  ?" 

There  was  no  reply  to  this  request,  for  a  sudden  rap 
at  the  front  door  put  the  little  circle  at  once  in  a  state  of  won 
derment.  It  was  a  rap  of  such  peculiar  kind  that  each  one 
instinctively  exclaimed,  "  Who  can  it  be  ?" 

It  was  not  the  common  rap  of  any  of  the  neighbors. 
There  was  a  flourish  to  it  very  unusual ;  first  a  loud  rap  with 
a  little  accompaniment,  and  then  a  long  string  of  delicate 
touches,  ending  with  one  almost  equal  in  volume  to  the  first. 

"  I  will  soon  see,"  said  Julia,  laying  down  her  work  and 
seizing  a  lamp  from  the  table. 

As  the  room  in  which  they  were  sitting  was  somewhat 
removed,  it  was  not  easy  to  distinguish  voices ;  but  some 
one  was  chatting  in  a  lively,  pleasant  way  with  Julia,  and 
by  laying  aside  his  outer  garment,  was  evidently  intending 
quite  a  call. 

Never  did  old  Sol,  when  on  some  fair  spring  morning  his 
mild,  broad  disk  arose  upon  our  goodly  earth,  shine  with 
more  complacency  than  did  the  full,  round  face  of  Mr.  Tim 
othy  Tightbody,  as  he  stood  in  the  door  of  the  little  room 
and  bowed  to  the  two  ladies,  who  were  still  seated  at  the  table, 
and  indulging  a  very  natural  curiosity  respecting  the  coming 
guest.  From  top  to  toe,  he  was  iu  his  best — an  entirely  new 
rig.  A  bottle-green  coat  of  the  newest  cut,  with  small  brass 
buttons,  a  bright  buff  vest,  held  together  by  three  of  the  same 
kind  of  fastenings  ;  a  frill,  broad  and  full  and  with  very  small 
plaits,  gracefully  protruding,  adorned  the  upper  man  ;  bottle- 
green  nether  garments,  and  well  polished  boots,  completed 
the  array.  Above  all  these,  however,  and  to  which,  properly 
speaking,  my  figure  of  the  sun  was  intended  to  apply,  shone 
his  full,  round  face.  Mr.  Timothy  had  certainly,  to  use  a 
homely  phrase.  -  been  giving  himself  a  good  scrubbing ;"  he 
had  used  the  soap  unsparingly,  for  his  well-filled  cheeks  and 
apple  forehead  glistened  like  an  alabaster  bust ;  and  to  crown 
all.  just  on  the  very  peak  of  what  would  otherwise  have  been 
a  flat  head,  there  dangled  a  very  graceful  curl  of  rather  gray 
ish  hair,  formed  by  gathering  the  stray  locks  from  adjacent 


62  TO   LOVE    AND    TO   BE    LOVED. 

parts,  and  by  some  sleight  of  hand,  causing  them  to  combine 
and  twist  together,  thereby  not  only  making  a  finish, 
which  some  might  admire,  but  also  covering  up  a  spot  that,  I 
am  sorry  to  say.  had  no  covering  of  its  own.  And  never  did 
the  aforesaid  planet  manifest  more  real  good  will  towards  our 
little  ball,  than  was  exhibited  in  the  smile  accompanying  the 
very  polite  bow  with  which  Mr.  Timothy  ushered  himself 
into  the  room. 

"  Your  servant,  ladies  ;  Mrs.  Edwards,  I  hope  I  see  you 
well ;  Miss  Mary,  your  most  obedient :  don't  rise,  ladies, 
don't  rise" — seeing  them  on  their  feet,  and  doing  their  best 
to  return  his  respectful  salutations. 

Mr.  Tightbody  was  immediately  provided  with  a  seat, 
but  it  was  some  time  before  he  could  make  up  his  mind  to 
take  possession ;  he  had  two  or  three  extra  bows  to  make, 
and  finally,  just  as  he  had  apparently  decided  to  be  station 
ary,  all  at  once  he  made  a  rapid  movement  towards  Mrs. 
Edwards. 

"  Excuse  me,  my  dear  madam,  but  I  had  like  to  have  for 
gotten  my  errand."- 

He  handed  her  a  letter.  The  bow,  and  the  smile,  and  the 
presentation  of  the  letter,  together  with  the  rapid  retrograde 
move  to  the  chair,  was  a  sight  not  often  witnessed. 

"  A  letter  from.  James  !"  said  Mrs.  Edwards,  holding  it 
up  to  the  view  of  her  daughters,  "  and  there  is  no  post 
mark  upon  it ;  is  it  possible  you  have  brought  it  from  my 
son,  personally  ?" 

Mr.  Tightbody  was  again  on  his  feet,  and  bending  his 
body  forward.  "  It  affords  me  infinite  pleasure,  madam,  to 
be  able  to  answer  in  the  affirmative ;  I  saw  your  son  at  six 
o'clock  this  morning,  and  he —  but  I  will  not  anticipate;  the 
letter  probably,  madam,  will  reveal  the  whole." 

"  You  will  excuse  a  mother's  anxiety,  sir.  and  pardon  me, 
if  I  leave  you  a  few  moments  to  the  care  of  my  daughters." 

Mr.  Timothy  would  have  been  obliged  to  rise  again,  but 
as  it  happened  he  had  not  yet  reached  a  resting  place,  the 
bow  was  the  lowest,  the  very  lowest  one  he  had  made.  "  I 
shall  be  but  too  happy,  madam,  to  be  in  such  company  ;  let 
me  be  no  hindrance  in  the  least,  for  although  I  have  no  chick 
nor  child  of  my  own,  I  can  well  realile " 


TO    LOVE    AND    TO    BE    LOVED.  63 

A  brand  just  then  fell  down  ;  Mr.  Timothy  flew  towards 
the  tongs,  -and  Mrs.  Edwards  left  the  room. 

How  long  she  was  absent.  Mr.  Timothy  would  not,  in  all 
probability,  have  been  able  to  say,  for  he  had  so  many  anec 
dotes  to  tell ;  he  was  fond  of  anecdotes,  and  it  so  filled  his 
whole  heart  with  ecstasy  to  see  the  bright  smile  play  about 
the  rosy  lips  of  the  staid  Mary,  and  to  hear  the  whole-heart 
laugh  of  Julia,  that  time  went  with  him  for  nothing. 

When  Mrs.  Edwards  returned  she  held  the  letter  in  her 
hands ;  her  countenance  was  lighted  with  an  expression  of 
deep  feeling ;  she  had  evidently  been  weeping,  but  they 
must  have  been  tears  of  joy.  for  her  mild  eye  shone  with 
unusual  brightness,  and  every  feature  was  softened  into  a 
look  of  happiness. 

"  Joy  !  girls,  our  dear  James  has  found  a  situation." 

"  Joy !  joy !  dear  mother,"  was  responded  by  both  the 
happy  sisters  at  once. 

•'  And  we  are  under  many  obligations  to  our  friend,  Mr. 
Tightbody.  for  his  influence  on  James's  behalf;  for  he 
frankly  acknowledges,  that  without  the  aid  of  some  such 
friend,  he  should  not  have  succeeded." 

The  two  sisters  turned  their  eyes,  glistening  with  tears 
of  happiness,  towards  the  benefactor  of  their  brother. 

';  Don't,  ladies,  don't  say  one  word,  I  beg  of  you :"  Mr. 
Timothy  was  standing  again  ;  "  not  one  word,  my  dear  ma 
dam,"  turning  towards  Mrs.  Edwards  ;  {i  if  any  poor  word  of 
mine  has  been  of  any  service  to  him,  I  mean  to  your  son,  ma 
dam,  and  your  brother,  ladies,  it  is  a  cause  of  unspeakable 
satisfaction  to  me  " 

It  took  some  little  time  to  get  things  righted  again,  or  at 
least  to  get  Mr.  Tightbody  quietly  seated  in  his  chair ;  he 
was  just  like  a  jackjumper,  the  moment  he  was  a  little  warm 
ed  by  any  exciting  remark,  up  he  would  go,  and  when  up,  he 
seemed  not  exactly  to  know  how  to  get  back.  At  the  pre 
sent  moment  his  feelings  were  flowing  very  fast,  almost  run 
ning  away  with  him :  in  fact,  he  "ould  hardly  be  said  to 
have  had  the  reins  in  his  own  hands,  a  combination  of  excit 
ing  circumstances  having  almost  proved  too  much  for  his 
equanimity. 

In  the  first  place,  he  had  put  on  a  bran  new  suit,  enough, 
generally,  of  itself,  to  affect  the  mind  of  a  common  man ; 


64  .  TO    LOVE    AND   TO   BE   LOVED. 

then  this  was  his  first  formal  call ;  he  had  thought  a  great 
deal  about  it  beforehand,  and  not  only  that,  but  his  head 
had  been  full  of  strange  fancies  ever  since  his  first  interview 
with  the  family ;  he  was  nervous  whenever  he  heard  their 
names  mentioned ;  he  had  peculiar  feelings  whenever  he 
passed  their  cottage,  or  when  he  saw  the  mother  and  daugh 
ters  walking,  in  all  their  gracefulness,  to  the  church  or  along 
the  highway ;  and  even  his  dreams  were  more  or  less  af 
fected  by  visions  in  which  they  acted  a  conspicuous  part. 
How  long  Mr.  Timothy  would  have  remained  in  this  parti 
ally  entranced  state,  there  is  no  telling,  for  in  the  midst  of 
these  enchanting  thoughts,  there  was  an  alarming  rap  at  the 
front  door.  All  started,  even  to  Mr.  Timothy. 

Julia  immediately  seized  a  light,  and,  sprightly  as  a  fawn, 
was  at  the  door  in  an  instant.  She  was  no  coward,  but  on 
turning  the  latch,  such  a  singular  object  presented  itself, 
that  she  involuntarily  stepped  back  a  pace  or  two ;  as  she 
did  so,  the  person,  or  thing,  walked  within  the  door  way. 

"  Is  massa  here,  missus  ?" 

"  What  is  your  master's  name  ?" 

"  Massa,  massa ;  me  been  lookin'  for  him  all  ober  de 
trete." 

Just  at  that  moment  a  little  gust  of  wind  blew  out  the 
light,  and  Julia  at  once  retraced  her  .steps  to  the  sitting- 
room,  not  very  sorry  for  an  excuse  to  get  there,  for  although 
she  had  heen  accustomed  to  blacks  from  her  infancy,  she 
had  never  seen  any  thing  in  the  shape  of  the  one  just  then 
before  her.  No  sooner  did  she  turn  to  go  through  the  pas 
sage,  than  she  was  conscious  that  the  creature  was  shuffling 
along  after  her.  Beginning  to  be  alarmed,  she  quickened  her 
speed  :  immediately  her  clothes  were  grasped  ;  in  the  excite 
ment  of  the  moment,  she  screamed  at  the  top  of  her  voice, 
"  mother  !  mother  !" 

With  a  cry  of  terror,  equally  loud,  the  being  behind  her 
called  out,  "  Mam  Bet !  Mam  Bet !  hold  de  light !" 

In  an  instant  the  inmates  of  the  room,  light  in  hand, 
rushed  to  the  spot.  Mr.  Timothy,  as  gallantry  dictated, 
was  in  the  van,  and  was  the  first  to  encounter  the  object 
which  had  caused  the  alarm. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  ladies,  don't  be  alarmed.  Pomp, 
Pomp,  wkat  is  this  ?  how  did  you  dare  ?  go  along  this  in- 


TO    LOVE    AND    TO    BE    LOVED.  65 

slant."  This  was  said  in  a  low  voice,  accompanied  by  pushes 
and  pinches,  which  caused  the  subject  for  whose  benefit  they 
were  intended,  to  make  a  few  rather  rapid  movements. 

-  What  de  matter  now,  Pomp  ?     What  fur  you  holler  ; 
Massa  Tim,  no  dere?" 

Mr.    Timothy  lifted  up  his  eyes.     "  My !"     What 

word  or  words  Mr.  Timothy  substituted  for  these  blanks,  it 
would  be  hard  to  say ;  for  nothing  escaped  his  lips  but  that 
simple  monosyllable.  His  look,  however,  betokened  strong 
emotion.  Immediately  before  him,  and  filling  the  whole 
door  way.  stood  old  Bet,  his  housekeeper,  her  immense  arms, 
and  shoulders,  and  head,  revealed  by  the  light  of  the  lantern, 
which  she  held  on  high,  the  better  to  see  what  was  going  on 
in  the  passage,  which  was  long  and  narrow. 

"  Oh  !  Massa  Tim,  I'm  most  frighten  to  det.  You  mos 
kill  Bet."  She  was,  indeed,  breathing  very  hard  and  short. 

"  I  been  all  ober  de  trete  a  huntin  for  massa ;  you  see 
missus."  she  now  addressed  herself  to  one  of  the  ladies,  who 
had  stepped  towards  the  door,  "  you  see,  missus,  me  was  so 
frightened ;  me  waits  till  eight  o'clock  and  no  massa.  and 
then  me  waits  till  nine  o'clock,  and  he  no  come  yet ;  so  I 
says,  Pomp,  you  mus  go  fine  him ;  but  you  see,  missus,  he 
aint  no  better  as  a  fool,  he  is  so  feared  for  de  dark ;  so  he 
sais.  '  mam  Bet.  I  no  goin  stir  foot,  'ont  you  go  long  wid  de 
lantern.'  I  knowed  Massa  Tim  gone  for  see  de  ladies,  for 
he  put  on  de  bran  new  clothes  and  de  best  pleted  bosom  ;  so 
I  sais,  Pomp,  me  call  fust  at  Massa  Watkins',  may  be  he 
gone  to  see  Miss  Julie,  but  he  was  no  dare ;  den  me  call  on 
Miss  Dinah  and  de  widow,  but  Massa  Tim  no  dare ;  and  so 
me  taut  may  be  he  gone  to  see  de  new  quality  folks ;  but 
my  bret  is  all  gone." 

During  this  long  harangue,  Mr.  Timothy  was  obliged  to 
be  a  silent  listener  ;  he  would  have  been  comparatively  hap 
py  could  an  earthquake,  tornado,  or  some  such  outbreak  of 
nature  just  then  have  turned  up,  and  carried  him  and  the 
two  members  of  his  family,  no  matter  where,  only  away  from 
the  present  company  ;  he  would  have  interfered  and  silenced 
his  housekeeper,  if  he  had  not  known  that  the  thing  was  im 
possible  ;  one  word  from  him  would  have  brought  a  dozen 
from  her. 

Main  Bet  however,  having  delivered  herself  of  the  budg- 


66  TO    LOVE   AND    TO    BE    LOVED. 

et,  stepping  carefully,  as  an  elephant  does  when  not  sure  of 
his  ground,  finally  got  down  the  steps,  and  waddled  along, 
swinging  the  lantern  and  calling  upon  '-Massa  Tim  and  Pomp 
to  come  along  wid  her,  if  dey  wanted  to  see  de  holes  and  de 
ruts." 

However  Mr.  Timothy  may  have  suffered,  and  suffer  he 
certainly  did,  there  was  too  much  genuine  politeness  on  the 
part  of  those  whose  guest  he  had  just  been,  to  allow  of  any 
expression  of  feeling,  after  he  had  parted  from  them,  which 
they  would  not  have  manifested  in  his  presence.  It  was  a 
source  of  pain  to  them,  that  they  had  been  witnesses  of  his 
extreme  mortification,  and  other  matters  of  deep  interest  at 
once  absorbed  their  attention. 

"  And  now,  dear  mother,"  said  Julia,  as  she  closed  the 
door  and  placed  the  light  upon  the  table ;  "  now  for  James's 
letter;  do  let  us  hear  it,  mother." 

':  Mary  may  read  it  if  she  pleases  ;  it  is  quite  a  long 
one." 

Mary  took  the  precious  document  from  her  mother's 
hands,  and  as  she  opened  it  and  saw  the  well-known  writ 
ing,  she  imprinted  a  warm  kiss  upon  the  unconscious  paper. 

Letters  are  usually  uninteresting  documents,  except  to 
those  for  whom  they  may  be  at  the  time  immediately  in 
tended  ;  but  as  the  one  now  under  consideration  will  eluci 
date  some  part  of  our  story,  my  readers  must  excuse  its  in 
troduction. 

MY    VERY    DEAR    MOTHER  : 

The  business  of  the  day  is  over,  and  I  am  now  seated  in 
my  snug  room  in  the  house  where  I  expect  and  hope  for 
some  years  to  come  to  make  my  abode. 

I  have  been,  shall  I  say.  fortunate  ?  My  dear  mother,  I 
feel  as  I  have  never  felt  before,  that  a  kind  Providence  has 
been  watching  over  me.  No  peradventure  has  placed  me 
where  I  am ;  may  I  ever  realize,  as  I  now  do,  that  He.  who 
watches  the  sparrows  when  they  fall,  orders  my  concerns. 

Little  did  I  think  when  I  bade  you  adieu,  when  with 
your  sweet  embrace  you  promised  me  all  the  aid  it  was  in 
your  power  to  give  me — your  constant  prayers, — and  when 
to  encourage  my  heart,  you  repeated  to  me  tha.t  benediction 
which  my  father  left  me  on  his  dying  bed,  how  much  I  should 


TO   LOVE    AND    TO    BE    LOVED.  67 

need  the  first,  and  what  a  precious  legacy — precious  be 
yond  all  value  that  gold  and  silver  have — was  that  farewell 
blessing. 

I  will  not  tell  you,  now,  all  the  dark  scenes  that  have  vis 
ited  me  since  we  parted  :  it  is  enough  that  they  are  past. 
Light  came  at  the  darkest  moment ;  in  the  hour  of  my  ex 
tremity,  influences  which  I  could  not  have  dreamed  of  opo- 
rated  in  my  behalf  and  placed  me  where  I  am.  I  have  never 
told  you,  dear  mother,  all  my  thoughts  and  feelings  in  refer 
ence  to  this  matter ;  nor  how  solicitous  I  have  been  for 
months  past  to  obtain  a  situation  such  as  I  now  have. 

When  my  father  was  compelled,  through  the  power  of  his 
fatal  disease,  to  close  his  worldly  business,  to  relinquish  all 
pursuit  of  gain,  and  retire  to  his  sick  bed,  I  plainly  saw  that 
at  no  distant  day,  my  efforts  must  be  put  in  requisition  for 
the  support  of  the  family.  I  knew  as  you  did  not,  how 
slender  were  our  means.  I  saw,  day  by  day,  the  little  stock 
melting  away.  I  knew  that  my  father  was  conscious  of  that 
approaching  poverty  which  he  had  so  long  dreaded,  and  my 
spirit  agonized  in  sympathy  with  the  anguish  which  racked 
his.  You  know  how  peculiar  were  his  feelings  ;  how  unwil 
ling  he  was  to  indulge  the  thought  that  any  of  us  should  ever 
be  compelled  to  take  a  lower  station  than  the  one  we  held, 
to  seek  a  living  by  those  more  humble  means,  which  is  the 
portion  of  the  many.  It  was  my  wish,  as  soon  as  he  closed 
his  office,  to  procure  a  situation  where  I  could  have  labored 
for  you  all :  but  I  dared  not  propose  it  to  him.  My  imagi 
nation  was  alive  with  sanguine  ideas  of  what  I  could  accom 
plish,  and  the  highest  happiness  my  mind  portrayed,  was 
that  of  being  able  to  earn,  by  my  own  efforts,  a  decent  sup 
port  for  you  all.  and  of  knowing  that  the  burden  which  lay 
so  heavy  on  his  heart  was  relieved ;  but  I  had  not  the  cour 
age  to  propose  it  to  him ;  I  feared  that  in  his  low  and  help 
less  estate,  his  sensitive  mind  would  at  once  have  taken  the 
alarm :  he  would  have  felt  that  want  was  immediately  upon 
us.  At  length  it  became  evident  to  me  that  necessity  would 
soon  demand  that  something  be  done,  and  without  the  know 
ledge  of  my  parents  I  made  the  attempt.  I  saw  an  adver- 
tibement  by  a  firm  that  wanted  a  clerk,  and  I  applied  for  the 
situation ;  I  did  it  with  much  trembling  ;  my  application 
was  not  wholly  rejected,  but  obstacles  were  presented  which 


68  TO    LOVE     AM>    TO    iiE     LOVED. 

I  had  not  anticipated.  The  firm  was  one  of  a  peculiar  kind, 
of  substantial  circumstances,  close  in  calculation,  and  watch 
ful  over  every  particular  of  their  interest.  I  felt  that  I 
could  please  them,  for  I  knew  that  I  was  competent  to  the 
duties  to  be  performed,  and  my  efforts  for  their  interest 
would  have  been  untiring ;  but  they  required  a  reference  as 
to  my  qualifications,  to  some  one  with  whom  I  had  served  as 
clerk ;  you  can  realize  my  difficulty.  Immediately  our 
scene  of  trial  came  on. 

On  my  return  to  New-York,  the  same  difficulty  met  me 
on  each  application,  and  crowds  were  rushing  to  every  open 
ing  for  a  place.  I  began  to  feel  that  my  attempt  would  be 
a  failure,  and  that  I  must  return  to  those  who,  at  my  own 
urgent  plea,  had  cast  themselves  dependent  upon  me,  and 
tell  them,  even  if  my  heart  should  break  in  doing  it,  that 
the  way  before  me,  in  the  only  employment  to  which  I  had 
been  trained,  was  completely  closed. 

The  day  before  I  left  you,  as  I  was  strolling  over  the 
fields,  I  witnessed  a  singular  accident  to  a  person  who  was 
driving  near  where  I  happened  to  be.  His  life  was  in  dan 
ger,  but  by  some  exertion  I  succeeded  in  effecting  his  rescue. 
It  proved  to  be  our  neighbor,  Mr.  Tightbody,  then  on  his 
way  to -procure  our  goods  which  had  arrived.  I  accompa 
nied  him,  and  assisted  in  loading  and  unloading,  as  you 
know.  It  was  but  a  trifling  circumstance,  and  one  that 
passed  from  my  mind,  filled  as  it  was  with  care  and  antici 
pation.  A  few  days  since,  I  met  this  same  person  in  the 
city,  and  was  conversing  with  him  about  things  at  our  new 
home,  when  he  was  accosted  by  a  gentlemen  as  he  passed, 
and  I  bade  him  good  morning.  It  was  the  elder  partner  in 
the  concern  with  which  I  am  now  employed — Mr.  Gerardus 
Hunt.  That  evening,  while  visiting  Mr.  Upjohn,  I  received 
an  invitation  to  call  and  see  the  firm,  to  which  I  told  you 
I  made  my  first  application. 

The  way  was  now  open  for  me,  and  I  immediately  en 
tered  upon  the  duties  of  the  office.  I  am  to  board,  free  of 
all  expense,  with  the  family  of  the  elder  partner,  and  to 
receive  the  first  year  three  hundred  dollars,  with  an  annual 
increase. 

And  now,  dear  mother  and  sisters,  I  wish  I  could  let  you 
see  how  happy  my  heart  is.  You  all  seem  dearer  to  me 


TO    LOVE    AND    TO    BE    LOVED.  69 

than  ever,  because  I  feel  that  I  have  a  right  to  love  you ;  I 
can  prove  it  in  a  more  substantial  way  than'  by  mere  words, 
although  I  do  not  think  for  a  moment  that  you  would  ever 
have  doubted  my  warm  affection.  But  has  it  not  been 
strange  ?  You  will  not  wonder  now  that  I  have  befen  made 
to  realize  a  Providence,  that  orders  our  private  affairs,  and 
works  by  what  we  are  apt  to  call  trifling  events. 

This  Mr.  Tightbody  must  be  a  man  of  kind  feelings,  and 
I  hope  if  he  calls  to  see  you,  that  he  may  be  received  with 
attention.  I  thought  the  girls  were  somewhat  disposed  to 
smile  when  his  name  was  mentioned ;  he  cannot  help  his 
name.  Adieu,  my  dear  mother  and  dear  sisters,  and  be  as 
happy  as  you  can. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

I  DO  not  know  how  it  is  with  my  readers,  but  for  myself,  I 
must  confess  that  when  interested  in  the  progress  of  any 
work,  or  the  development  of  growth,  either  in  the  natural 
or  moral  world,  I  like  to  let  periods  of  longer  or  shorter 
duration  occur,  when  I  shut  them  away  from  my  observa 
tion,  that  I  may  mark  with  more  distinctness  the  advance 
which  has  been  made.  A  pleasure  is  often  afforded  to  the 
mind  more  impressive  than  can  be  derived  from  the  same 
objects,  while  viewing  the  slow  and  imperceptible  operation 
of  cause  and  effect,  as  they  work  their  steady  change. 

Is  it  too  much  to  ask  iny  reader  to  take  an  electric  leap 
over  three  whole  years  of  our  mortal  existence ;  to  leave  our 
weary  planet,  with  all  its  countless  interests,  to  roll  through 
the  long  journey,  while  we  take  no  notice  of  its  "  idle  whirl  ?" 
The  thing  cannot  be  done  except  on  paper ;  but  since  in 
this  way  long  jumps  may,  at  times,  be  made,  and  profitably 
too,  I  must  be  indulged  with  the  experiment. 

Three  years  make  great  changes  sometimes.  It  is  long 
enough,  with  the  whirling  speed  that  now  marks  every  move 
ment,  to  make  us  strangers  in  our  world,  could  we  let  go  our 
hold  upon  it,  and  cease  to  mark  the  vision,  as  its  changing 


70  TO    LOVE    AND    TO    BE    LOVED. 

form  melts  before  our  view  into  other  forms  and  attitudes. 
We  must  run  fast,  now,  would  we  keep  up  with  the  world. 

But  at  the  period  which  our  story  embraces,  things  moved 
at  a  more  healthful  pace.  Man  breathed  more  freely,  and 
jogged  along  at  his  leisure,  and  seemed  to  feel  that  the  world 
was  given  him  to  enjoy,  and  not  merely  to  fly  through. 

Within  the  little  circle  of  our  story,  three  years  have  done 
something ;  changes  have  been  gradually  working.  Those 
interests  which  the  heart  most  dearly  clings  to,  have  been 
rolling  on  with  accumulating  power.  The  light-hearted  play 
fulness  of  the  maiden  of  sixteen,  upon  whose  days  and  nights 
no  darkness  ever  spreads  its  veil,  has  melted  into  the  more 
serious  and  entrancing  loveliness  of  womanhood,  where 
springs  of  curious  workmanship  play  with  intensest  power, 
grasping  the  whole  being  within  their  firm  embrace,  and 
filling  it  with  ecstasy,  that  knows  no  counterpart  but  in 
Heaven's  own  beatitude,  or  pressing  its  warm  and  beautiful 
emotions  beneath  a  crushing  weight. 

The  little  family  of  the  Upjohns  has  moved  on  in  the 
same  quiet  and  steady  round.  Not  a  wrinkle  more  has 
gathered  on  the  brow  of  the  old  man,  and  the  same  kind 
smile  marks  the  placid  countenance  of  his  good  woman ; 
still  content  with  their  humble  lot.  and  industriously  plod 
ding  the  daily  path  of  life,  their  fireside  is  yet  cheerful  and 
warm  with  the  glow  of  kindly  feeling. 

Gitty  has  altered  somewhat.  The  girl  with  prudish 
airs  has  passed  into  the  full  bloom  of  womanhood,  graceful 
in  her  carriage,  and  beautiful  in  her  form  and  features. 

Whether  her  heart  is  as  light  as  it  once  was.  I  dare  not 
say,  although  the  happiness  which  thrills  it  may  exceed  all 
that  her  thoughts  could  once  have  imagined.  She  has 
reached  an  age  when  the  affections  bear  sway,  and  reason  and 
prudence  too  often  yield  to  their  power. 

The  Messrs.  Hunt  have  found  in  James  Edwards  a  valu 
able  assistant.  His  entire  devotion  to  their  interests,  and 
his  increasing  ability  to  discharge  the  duties  devolving  upon 
him.  have  fully  realized  the  expectations  of  his  friends,  and 
even  Mr.  Geordie  Hunt  reposes  implicit  confidence  in  his 
fidelity. 

The  only  shadow  that,  at  times,  comes  across  the  moral 
atmosphere  of  the  young  man,  is  caused  by  some  peculiari- 


TO    LOVE    AND    TO    BE    LOVED.  71 

ties  in  one  who,  although  partner  of  the  concern,  and  as  such, 
his  superior,  has  ever  been  more  as  a  companion  than  a  mas 
ter.  Rudolph  Hunt  was  one  whom  James  could  never  fully 
comprehend. 

He  could  not.  indeed,  complain  that  Rudolph  bad  ever 
usurped  authority  over  him.  or  treated  him  with  that  distance 
which  junior  partners  are  too  apt  to  indulge  towards  those 
subordinate  to  them  in  station,  although  equal  in  other  re 
spects  ;  on  the  contrary,  their  intercourse  had  been  familiar, 
and  many  a  kind  act  on  the  part  of  Rudolph  had  laid  James 
under  obligations  which  he  could  not  easily  forget.  But 
with  all  his  suavity  of  manners,  and  the  generosity  he  had 
manifested,  the  latter  could  not  be  blinded  to  certain  dark 
traits  which  would,  in  the  freedom  of  intercourse,  obtrude 
themselves :  marring  what  he  would  have  wished  to  love, 
and  shaking  his  confidence  where  he  would  have  been  glad 
to  feel  that  there  was  a  sure  foundation  upon  which  to  rest. 

The  call  which  Rudolph  had  made  at  the  house  of  Mr. 
Upjohn,  in  search  of  James  Edwards,  and  the  introduction 
he  received  that  evening,  were  but  a  prelude  to  a  course  of 
visits  and  serious  intimacy.  His  manners  were  pleasing,  and 
the  occasional  calls  he  made  by  no  means  unacceptable  to 
the  little  family.  Gitty  did  her  best  to  welcome  him,  and 
make  the  evening  pass  pleasantly  away.  These  calls  had  at 
length  become  quite  frequent,  aud  on  fine  summer  evenings, 
when  the  streets  were  thronged  with  the  seekers  for  pleasure, 
Gitty  would  be  invited  abroad  to  see  some  fine  sight,  or  to 
enjoy  the  promenade.  Her  guardians  would  much  have 
preferred  that  she  should  always  be  by  their  side,  but  how 
could  they  think  of  thus  fettering  one  so  young  and  light- 
hearted  ;  they  had  once  been  young  themselves.  The  young 
man  too  was  of  fair  standing,  and  perhaps  in  the  opinion  of 
many,  higher  on  the  scale  than  she.  But  of  this,  the  old 
folks  thought  not.  They  could  imagine  no  class  of  society 
that  Gitty  was  not  fully  equal  to ;  and  yet,  when  they  would  ?it 
together,  while  she  was  thus  away  even  until  the  evening  had 
been  spent,  thoughts  would  come  over  them  that  for  the  mo 
ment  were  like  the  shadow  of  a  dark  cloud,  but  like  it,  they 
would  soon  fly  by,  and  Gitty  would  come  home,  and  smile 
sweetly  upon  them,  and  Rudolph  courteously  bid  them  a  good 
night,  and  it  was  all  well. 


72  TO   LOVE    AND    TO    BE    LOVED.' 

But  alas  !  all  was  not  well.  Gitty  might  not  have  been  gift 
ed  with  that  strong  sense  of  propriety  which  many  have ;  she 
may  have  been  less  on  her  guard  against  the  faithlessness  of 
man  than  many  of  her  sex  and  age,  but  she  had  a  free  and 
guilelesiP  heart ;  she  thought  no  evil,  and  she  feared  none. 
Every  attention  on  the  part  of  Rudolph,  she  received  as  au 
expression  of  his  good  will,  of  his  kind  feelings  towards  her. 
She  received  it  in  all  honesty  of  soul,  and  as  these  tokens 
of  his  feelings  were  neither  few,  nor  far  between,  they  won 
upon  her  heart.  He  became  more  and  more  associated  with 
the  happier  spots  in  her  existence  ;  his  presence  seemed  to 
be  necessary  to  make  every  occasion  of  joy  just  what  it  should 
be.  In  every  vision  of  beauty  that  flitted  through  her  young 
mind,  he  was  a  conspicuous  figure.  In  her  dreams  by  night, 
and  in  those  livelier  and  more  entrancing  dreams  by  day,  in 
which  her  spirit  loved  to  lose  its  present  realities  and  bathe  in 
delights  of  its  own  framing,  he  was  one,  the  principal  one,  whose, 
virtues,  as  her  mind  painted  them,  gilded  the  whole  scene 
with  rays  of  beauty.  And  thus  around  her  young  and  sus 
ceptible  heart,  by  degrees  a  chain  has  been  cast.  Its  links 
may  have  been  formed  of  nothing  stronger  than  the  trifles  I 
have  named,  but  they  held  her  ardent  feelings  in  an  embrace 
firmer  than  the  iron  clasp  that  holds  the  criminal  to  his  cell. 

The  little  family  at  the  White  Cottage  are  no  longer 
mourners.  The  weeds  of  sorrow  have  been  laid  aside,  and  time 
has  kindly  soothed  their  agonized  feelings.  Their  humble 
home  has  been  surrounded  with  many  little  embellishments, 
the  work  of  their  own  hands.  Shrubs  and  plants  are  bloom 
ing  without,  and  order,  neatness,  and  taste,  are  manifest  in 
every  department  within.  They  have  known  no  real  wants, 
although  compelled  by  restricted  means  to  the  practise  of 
rigid  economy. 

Faithful  to  his  trust.  James  has  consecrated  every  cent 
of  his  income,  except  what  was  needful  for  the  supply  of  de 
cent  apparel  for  himself,  to  their  comfort.  Occasionally,  he 
has  been  enabled  to  spend  short  periods  with  them  ;  pure 
seasons  of  delight  they  have  been — each  visit  unfolding  new 
charms  in  each  other,  and  binding  in  stronger  and  more 
tender  bonds  their  warm  affections. 

The  fears  which  a  mother's  sensitive  heart  at  times  called 
up,  lest  this  loved  one  should  be  led  astray,  have  long  since 


TO    LOVE    AND    TO    BE    LOVED.  73 

been  quieted.  His  generous  spirit  sparkles  before  her  in 
all  its  purity  and  brightness,  and  she  feels  that  her  prayers 
have  been  answered,  and  looks  forward  with  perfect  confi 
dence  to  the  day  when  his  faithfulness  shall  reap  its  reward, 
and  her  noble  boy  stand  high  among  the  competitors  for  dis 
tinction  as  he  now  does  before  her — as  a  true  and  tried  son 
and  brother.  Three  years  then  have  relieved  their  distresses, 
and  confirmed  their  hopes ;  and  around  that  little  family 
bright  scenes  are  shining,  warming  with  life,  and  painting 
with  loveliness,  the  scenery  that  forms  the  circle  of  their  in 
terests,  and  tinging  even  the  few  scattered  clouds  that  rest 
upon  their  horizon  with  hues  of  beauty. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

IT  was  Saturday  afternoon,  and  seated  in  his  neat  and  com 
modious  study,  surrounded  with  those  rich  stores  which  the 
great  and  good  of  past  ages  have  left  for  the  benefit  of  all 
coming  generations,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Wharton  was  just  finishing 
his  exercises  for  the  coming  Sabbath,  when  there  was  a  tap 
at  the  door,  and  the -servant  maid  announced  that  Mr.  Tight- 
body  was  below,  and  would  be  glad  to  see  Mr.  Wharton  alone. 

"  Show  him  up,  by  all  means." 

Mr.  Tightbody  has  altered  in  nothing  material  since  we 
last  saw  him,  except,  it  may  be,  that  his  round  face  is  a  little 
rounder,  and  his  coat  might  be  rather  more  difficult  to  but 
ton.  The  expression  of  his  countenance  was,  however,  of  a 
different  cast  from  any  that  we  have  seen  him  wear  before. 
Something  of  a  serious  and  alarming  nature  it  must  be,  for 
his  color  has  gone,  and,  as  he  bowed  and  addressed  Mr. 
Wharton,  there  was  a  tremor  in  his  voice,  and  the  hand  which 
he  extended  was  as  cold  as  an  iceberg.  He  took  the  seat 
assigned  to  him  in  silence,  and  taking  from  his  pocket  a 
paper,  "  I  have  just  come  from  the  Point,  sir,  and  while 
there,  accidentally  cast  my  eye  upon  an  article  in  this  paper. 
Perhaps,  sir,  you  have  heard  something  more  particular  from 
the  family,  and  can  throw  some  light  upon  it." 
4 


74  TO    LOVE    AND    TO    BE    LOVED. 

He  handed  it  to  Mr.  Wharton,  and  with  a  trembling 
hand,  pointed  to  the  paragraph.  Mr.  Wharton  was  of  a 
nervous  temperament,  and  the  evident  excitement  under 
which  his  visitor  labored,  did  not  fail  to  produce  a  corre 
sponding  effect  upon  him.  The  article  was  among  the  news 
of  the  day : 

"  ROBBERY. — A  robbery  to  a  large  amount  was  yesterday 
ascertained  to  have  been  committed  upon  Messrs.  G-.  &  A. 

Hunt,  ship-chandlers,  in street,  and  a  young  man  by 

the  name  of  Edwards,  living  with  them  as  clerk,  was  suspected, 
and,  circumstances  being  so  strong  against  him,  has  been 
arrested,  and  for  want  of  bail,  committed  to  prison. 

"  The  sum  taken  from  Messrs.  Hunt  is  six  thousand  dol 
lars.  It  is  supposed  the  young  man  has  squandered  it  at  the 
gambling-table.  Until  the  time  of  his  arrest,  his  character 
was  thought  to  be  unexceptionable.  It  is  said  that  a  mother 
and  two  sisters  are  dependent  upon  him  for  support." 

Mr.  Wharton  read  it  through,  and  then  turning  his  pale 
and  troubled  countenance  upon  Mr.  Tightbody,  who  had 
been  watching  him  with  intense  interest,  "  Can  this  be  true  ?" 

"  I  know  not.  sir ;  I  saw  it,  as  I  told  you,  at  the  Point, 
and,  not  knowing  what  to  do  about  it,  have  first  brought  it 
to  you,  sir." 

"  Then  you  have  not  shown  it  to  Mrs.  Edwards  ?" 

"  No  living  soul  in  the  town  has  seen  it,  sir,  but  your 
self." 

"  I  believe  this  paper  is  not  taken  here  ?" 

"  No,  sir,  nor  any  other  from  the  city,  but  the  one  you 
take,  and  that  will  not  be  in  until  the  first  of  the  week." 

"  We  must  move  cautiously  in  this  matter,  Mr.  Tightbody, 
and  do  nothing  to  circulate  this  terrible  news.  The  family 
must  be  informed  of  it  in  as  gentle  a  manner  as  possible ; 
and  who  shall  do  it?" 

"  There  is  no  one  but  Mr.  Wharton  himself  that  is 
fitting  for  such  an  errand.  I  would  not  undertake  it  myself 
•  for  all  the  land  between  this  and  the  ocean." 

"  There  may  be  some  mistake  after  all ;  but  if  you  will 
leave  this  paper  with  me,  Mr.  Tightbody,  I  will  endeavor  to 
do  the  best  I  can,  and  act  as  circumstances  shall  dictate. 
When  did  it  take  place;  yesterday?" 


TO    LOVE   AND    TO   BE    LOVED.  75 

"  The  paper  is  dated  yesterday,  sir ;  the  sad  occurrence 
must  have  taken  place  on  Thursday." 

'•  Thursday;  that  would  almost  give  time  for  the  family  to 
receive  some  tidings  to-day ;  perhaps  we  may  be  saved  the 
sad  necessity  of  unfolding  the  intelligence  to  them.  I  think, 
Mr.  Tightbody,  that  I  shall  delay  the  matter  until  Monday 
morning ;  in  the  mean  time,  let  no  notice  of  it  by  any 
means  get  abroad  " 

"  It  shall  never  get  abroad  from  me,  sir." 

As  Mr.  Tightbody  departed,  Mr.  "Wharton  again  cast  his 
eye  carefully  over  the  notice,  and  then  arose  and  walked  the 
room,  under  strong  excitement ;  he  had  put  a  powerful  re 
straint  upon  his  feelings  during  the  interview,  but  when  left 
alone,  the  calamity  in  all  its  aggravating  form  came  up^fividly 
before  him.  He  dearly  loved  this  family ;  he  loved  this 
young  man ;  he  loved,  with  almost  parental  affection,  the 
elder  sister,  who  had  been  for  three  years  under  his  tuition. 
Her  gentleness,  her  respectful  attention,  her  brilliant  mind, 
her  ardent  feelings,  all  had  won  his  heart. 

And  then  what  course  should  he  pursue  ?  Should  he  go 
and  show  them  this  fatal  paper,  or  wait  for  some  intimation 
from  them  as  to  their  knowledge  of  the  circumstances? 
Either  alternative  presented  to  his  sensitive  heart  a  sicken 
ing  aspect. 

The  Sabbath  was  at  hand.  He  would  wait  until  its  sacred 
hours  had  passed,  when  both  he  and  they  might  be  better 
fitted  to  sustain  the  severe  ordeal.  He  then  rang  the  bell 
for  Mrs.  Wharton. 

On  entering,  she  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise  at 
his  troubled  appearance.  The  only  reply  he  made  was  to 
hand  her  the  paper,  and  point  to  the  fatal  paragraph,  re 
questing  her  to  read  and  be  silent. 

••  My  dear  husband,  what  does  it  mean  ?  Edwards ! 
Edwards  !  can  this  be  our  James  ?" 

"  I  fear  it  is  ;  I  cannot  doubt  it." 

"  Oh.  Mr.  Wharton,  how  can  it  be  !  James  Edwards  ! 
What  will  his  poor  mother  and  sisters  do?  My  dear  hus 
band,  it  will  kill  them.  And  what  does  it  say  at  the  last 
part  of  it  ?  Gambling  !  Oh,  the  poor,  ruined  young  man  ! 
But  the  dear  child  has  no  father ;"  and  Mrs.  Wharton  re 
lieved  the  agony  of  her  feelings  by  a  flood  of  tears. 


76  TO   LOVE   AND    TO    BE    LOVED. 

The  sweet  Sabbath  came  with  its  multiplied  blessings, 
but  the  heart  of  the  pastor  was  weighed  down  under  a  bur 
den  that  his  spirit  could  not  throw  off.  Mrs.  Edwards  and 
Mary  were  in  their  seat  at  church,  and  as  his  eye  fell  upon 
them,  in  passing  over  the  congregation,  the  sickening  assur 
ance  almost  palsied  his  efforts,  that  they  knew  nothing  of 
the  hateful  secret,  which  he  feared  it  was  to  be  his  painful 
duty  to  disclose  to  them. 

Monday  came ;  a  calm,  bright,  beautiful  day.  The  frosts 
of  late  had  left  their  changeful  influence  upon  the  trees  and 
shrubs,  and  to  those  who  admire  autumn's  variegated  hues,  it 
was  a  time  for  the  heart  to  take  its  fill  of  nature's  beauties. 

Mrs.  Wharton  concluded  to  accompany  her  husband  to 
the  cottage.  Julia  espied  them  a  short  distance  from  the 
house,  and  came  tripping  like  a  fawn  to  meet  and  escort 
them  in.  At  the  door,  Mrs.  Edwards  was  ready  with  her 
friendly  greeting,  and  Mary's  bright  eye  sparkled  with  de 
light,  as  she  came  into  the  room  after  they  were  seated,  and 
thanked  them  most  affectionately  for  their  early  call. 

What  would  they  not  have  given  then,  to  have  been  igno 
rant  of  the  heart-rending  intelligence,  they  had  come  to  com 
municate. 

"  Mr.  Wharton,"  said  Mary,  "  I  forgot  to  tell  you.  when 
at  the  parsonage  on  Saturday,  we  had  received  a  letter  from 
James." 

A  thrill  of  hope  electrified  his  frame 

"  What  was  its  date,  Mary  ?"  he  asked  eagerly. 

"  It  was  dated  on  Tuesday  last  •  I  don't  know  why  it  has 
been  so  long  getting  to  us." 

His  hope  was  gone. 

"  Was  he  well  ?» 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir,  very  well ;  and  his  letter  is  in  a  much 
more  cheerful  strain  than  usual." 

However  painful  the  task,  Mr.  Wharton  resolved  at  once 
to  unfold  his  errand,  and  requesting  Mrs.  Edwards  to  accom 
pany  him  into  the  adjoining  room,  she  politely  led  the  way, 
and  as  soon  as  they  were  seated ;  "  Have  you  no  intelli 
gence,  Mrs.  Edwards,  from  your  son  since  the  date  of  that 
letter  ?" 

"  None,  sir,  whatever,"  and  looking  at  him  with  a  search 
ing  eye ;  "  Have  you,  sir  heard  any  thing  from  him  ?" 


TO    LOVE    AND   TO    BE    LOVED.  77 

"  Not  directly." 

"Mr.  Wharton,"  said  she,  clasping  her  hands  firmly 
together,  and  her  lip  quivering  with  emotion,  "you  have 
heard  something  ;  tell  me,  oh,  tell  me,  what  it  is." 

"Mrs.  Edwards,  have  you  ever  suspected  James  of  any 
improper  habits?" 

"James,  sir?  James?  why,  sir?  why  do  you  ask  me? 
You  know.  Mr.  Wharton,  wo  have  every  reason  to  believe 
him  most  spotless ;  who  doubts  it,  sir  ?" 

"  I  never  have,  my  dear  Mrs.  Edwards,  but  I  have  receiv 
ed  a  paper  from  New  York,  which  contains  a  paragraph  that 
I  must  say  has  caused  me  a  great  deal  of  suffering,  and  I 
have  thought  it  my  duty  to  show  it  to  you." 

He  handed  her  the  paper  and  pointed,  as  well  as  his  agi 
tated  nerves  would  allow,  to  the  fatal  article.  He  sat  a  mo 
ment  in  breathless  suspense  ;  he  saw  the  paper  gliding  from 
her  hands,  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  deathlike  palor  that 
overspread  her  countenance,  and  calling  in  haste  for  Mrs. 
Wharton,  the  children  rushed  with  her  into  the  room. 

When  the  heart  pours  out  the  first  wailings  of  its  agony, 
when  dire  calamity,  in  its  most  crucifying  form,  first  strikes 
the  appalled  senses,  there  is  such  an  utterance  to  the  horror 
of  the  soul,  such  an  outbursting  of  the  spirit's  pangs,  such  a 
heaving  away  of  all  barriers  by  the  rushing  floods  of  passion, 
that  into  its  whirling  current  any  heart  is  drawn  that  stands 
within  the  bounds  of  sympathy.  Neither  Mr.  Wharton  nor 
his  wife  were  made  of  such  materials  as  fitted  them  to  witness 
the  thrilling  scene  ;  but  where  deep  responsibility  rests  upon 
us,  the  spirit  is  sustained  to  do  and  to  dare  with  superhuman 
energy. 

After  using  such  remedies  as  the  house  afforded  for 
the  recovery  of  Mrs.  Edwards,  as  soon  as  there  were  signs 
of  returning  consciousness,  Mr.  Wharton  left  the  room 
with  Mary,  who  had  been  imploring  him  with  tears  to  inform 
her  of  the  cause  of  her  mother's  distress. 

In  his  hands  was  the  fatal  paper ;  but  he  dared  not  ven 
ture  committing  it  to  Mary,  until  first  her  mind  should  be  in 
some  measure  prepared  for  the  blow. 

"  My  dear  child,  I  want  you  to  nerve  your  mind  with  all 
the  fortitude  you  can  command,  not  only  for  your  own  sake, 


78  TO    LOVE    AND    TO    BE    LOVED. 

but  that  you  may  help  sustain  your  mother ;  I  offer  you  a 
father's  home  and  protection." 

She  threw  herself  into  his  arms. 

"  Oh.  Mr.  Wharton.  you  have  been  a  father  to  us  ;  but  tell 
me,  ah,  tell  me,  is  my  brother  dead  1  is  my  brother  dead  ? 
tell  me,  tell  me  !" 

"  He  is  not  dead,  Mary." 

She  drew  back,  and  clasping  her  hands,  looked  at  him  in 
a  calm  but  most  earnest  manner. 

"Is  he  not  dead?" 

"  No  he  is  not.  Mary." 

"  Is  there  any  hope  of  his  life?" 

"  His  life  is  not  in  any  danger." 

A  moment  she  covered  her  face,  and  then  fixing  on  him 
the  same  earnest  gaze ;  "  Mr.  Wharton,  now  you  may 
let  me  know  the  worst.  I  am  not  afraid  to  hear  any  thing 
now." 

"  There  may  be  some  mistake  after  all.  But  here  is  the 
paper,  my  dear  child,  read  for  yourself." 

Mary  sat  down  and  looked  steadily  through  the  paragraph, 
and  even  went  over  it  a  second  time. 

"  Mr.  Wharton.  this  may  all  be  true,  but  true  or  false.  I 
must  go  and  see  my  dear  brother ;  innocent  or  guilty,  his 
sister  will  suffer  with  him.  Oh.  James  !  James  !  my  brother  ! 
my  brother  !"  She  wept  bitterly. 

Mr.  Wharton  left  her,  and  again  entered  the  room  where 
Mrs.  Edwards  was.  She  had  recovered  from  her  swoon,  but 
was  still  reclining  on  the  bed.  Mrs.  Wharton  was  sitting  be 
side  her. 

"  It  is  a  bitter  cup,"  said  she.  extending  her  hand  as  the 
reverend  man  approached  :  "  but  my  Father  would  not  have 
put  it  to  my  lips,  if  he  did  not  see  that  I  needed  it.  Oh.  sir, 
the  pangs  which  my  poor  heart  has  suffered  within  this  short 
hour,  may  you  never  know.  My  poor  James  !  But  he  shall 
soon  see  that  a  mother's  love  changes  not ;  his  guilt  and  his 
prison  I  shall  share.  But  where  is  Mary  ?" 

She  heard  her  mother's  voice  and  immediately  entered 
the  room.  Her  tears  were  wiped  away.  She  came  with  a 
light  step  to  where  her  mother  lay,  took  her  hand,  stooped 
and  kissed  her  affectionately. 

Mother,  I  must  go  and  see  James." 


TO    LOVE    AND    TO    BE    LOVED.  79 

"  We  will  both  go,  my  dear ;  if  we  can  do  nothing  else,  we 
will  bear  the  shame  with  him." 

"  Mother,  dear  mother,"  said  Julia,  who  had  been  sitting 
in  one  corner  of  the  room,  and  weeping  in  agony,  "  let  me  go 
too,  I  know  I  can  comfort  James ;  do,  mother,  let  me  go." 

After  some  consultation,  it  was  concluded  that  Mr.  Whar- 
ton  should  accompany  Mrs.  Edwards  and  Mary  to  New  York, 
and  that  Julia  should  make  her  home  at  the  Parsonage  until 
their  return.  He  could  not,  however,  leave  the  house  until 
he  had  knelt  with  them  before  our  Heavenly  Father,  and 
committed  this  afflicted  family  to  the  care  of  Him  who  has 
been  known  in  all  ages  as  the  Father  of  the  fatherless  and 
the  God  of  the  widow. 


CHAPTEK  IX. 

THE  report  which  had  caused  such  alarm  and  sorrow  at  the 
White  Cottage  was,  alas  !  too  true.  A  sad  change  had  taken 
place  in  the  circumstances  of  James  Edwards,  and  in  the 
opinion  which  his  friends  in  the  city  had  entertained  con 
cerning  him. 

The  Messrs.  Hunt  had,  for  many  years,  been  in  the  habit 
of  keeping  at  the  house  of  the  elder  partner,  a  strong  box  or 
iron  chest,  for  the  purpose  of  depositing  therein  their  more 
valuable  papers,  such  as  notes  of  hand,  bonds  and  mort 
gages,  deeds,  &c.,  &c. 

Within  the  same  strong  box  was  also  lodged,  very  safely 
every  night,  a  small  fancy  trunk,  containing  whatever  moneys 
might  be  on  hand  at  the  close  of  each  day  :  for,  as  I  have  be 
fore  said,  the  Messrs.  Hunt  made  no  deposits  in  any  bank  ; 
besides  this  little  trunk,  which  travelled  daily  between  the 
store  and  the  dwelling,  there  was  stationed  in  one  corner  of 
the  chest,  a  small  box  with  a  sliding  cover,  containing  the 
private  funds,  &c.,  which  belonged  to  the  elder  partner,  and 
it  was  from  this  box  that  the  contents  were  missing. 

It  appears  that  for  some  weeks  a  sum  of  money  had  boon 
lying  idle  beneath  the  little  sliding  cover,  Mr.  Hunt  having 


80  TO    LOVE    AND    TO   BE    LOVED. 

received  it  for  some  property  of  his  own  which  he  had  sold  ; 
not  finding  an  opportunity  that  suited  him  for  a  permanent 
investment,  he  had  concluded  to  loan  it  to  the  concern,  as 
they  were  about  to  lay  in  a  large  stock  of  some  leading  arti 
cle  in  their  line.  It  was  not  until  the  very  day  upon  which 
the  funds  were  to  be  used,  that  Mr.  Hunt  ascertained  to  his 
inexpressible  consternation  that  the  little  box  was  empty. 
James  had  just  arisen  from  the  breakfast  table,  and  gone  on 
his  way  to  the  store,  when  Mr.  Hunt  took  down  the  key  from 
the  place  where  it  usually  hung,  (in  a  little  cupboard  which 
opened  into  his  own  bedroom),  and  went  down  stairs  into  a 
cellar  under  the  back-building  of  his  house.  As  he  attempt 
ed  to  open  the  door  with  the  key  which  he  had  brought  with 
him,  to  his  surprise  he  found  one  already  in  the  door  which 
turned  the  lock  with  ease.  He  opened  the  door — it  was  a 
small  neat  room,  the  walls  whitewashed,  and  the  floor  paved 
with  brick  ;  on  one  end  were  several  shelves  filled  with  choice 
wines,  too  good  to  be  used  very  freely,  and  in  the  centre, 
alone  in  its  glory,  stood  the  before-mentioned  iron  chest. 

The  old  gentleman  was  startled  by  the  phenomenon  of  the 
key.  and  his  first  thought,  as  soon  as  he  perceived  that  his 
chest  was  safe,  was  that  some  one  had  been  making  free  with 
his  Madeira  ;  but  not  a  vacancy  was  visible,  except  the  one 
made  by  the  withdrawal  of  a  bottle  a  few  days  previous  by 
his  own  hands,  to  treat  a  rare  friend. 

He  then  tried  the  lid  of  the  chest,  and  shook  it  hard,  but 
it  refused  to  open  ;  he  applied  the  ponderous  key  ;  the  strong 
bolt  flew  open  with  a  sound  that  made  the  vault  ring ;  he 
raised  the  lid,  and  every  thing  appeared  to  be  in  statu  quo  ; 
again  he  locked  it  and  began  to  ponder  about  the  strange 
key  in  the  door ;  compared  with  the  one  in  his  hand,  there 
was  but  a  shade  of  difference.  Thinking  it  possible  that 
Mrs.  Hunt  could  throw  some  light  upon  the  matter,  he  re 
quested  a  servant  from  the  adjoining  kitchen  to  call  her. 
Mrs.  Hunt  was  well  to  do  in  the  way  of  flesh,  and  came  as 
rapidly  as  could  be  expected ;  as  soon  as  she  was  in  the  lit 
tle  room,  he  shut  the  door. 

"  Do  you  know,  Peggy,  any  thing  about  that  key  ?" 

"  Know !  why,  yes ;  that's  the  key  of  this  ere  vault," 
looking  at  her  husband  as  she  spoke." 


TO    LOVE    AND   TO    BE    LOVED.  81 

"  No,  it  aint — no  such  thing — see  here  ;  this  is  the  key, 
I  just  now  brought  it  down  out  of  the  cupboard." 

"  Where  did  you  find  this,  then  ?" 

"  Sticking  in  that  door." 

Mrs.  Hunt  put  her  two  hands  against  her  sides,  and 
looked  at  her  husband  in  great  astonishment. 

"  What  upon  earth  does  it  mean,  Geordie  ?" 

"  That's  just  what  I  sent  for  you  to  tell  me ;  don't  you 
know  nothing  about  that  key  ?" 

Mrs.  Hunt,  finding  that  her  hushand  was  becoming  some 
what  agitated,  put  on  her  spectacles  and  examined  the  key 
in  earnest. 

"  It  looks  to  me,  Mr.  Hunt,  like  the  key  to  the  boys' 
room ;  but  I  will  send  up  and  see." 

Just  then  her  niece  made  her  appearance  in  the  passage, 
singing  a  lively  air  and  skipping  along  on  her  way  up  stairs. 

«  Sally,  Sally." 

«  What,  aunt  ?»  and  Sally,  or  Sarah,  full  of  life  and  beau 
ty,  came  quickly  to  her. 

"  Did  you  call  me,  aunt  ?" 

li  Yes,  child,  here ;  do  you  go  up  to  the  boys'  room ; 
James  has  gone  to  the  store.  You  just  step  up  there,  and 
see  if  this  key  isn't  the  key  of  their  closet  door ;  but  stay — 
Betty  will  know  more  about  it — I'll  send  Betty." 

And  so  she  fumbled  her  way  into  the  kitchen,  Sarah  re 
sumed  her  pleasant  tune,  threw  back  her  curls,  and  was  soon 
out  of  hearing. 

While  Mrs.  Hunt  was  holding  counsel  with  Betty,  Mr. 
Hunt  began  to  think  that  he  might  as  well  open  his  chest 
again,  and  examine  more  particularly  into  matters  there. 
He  did,  to  be  sure,  feel  no  uneasiness  as  to  there  having 
been  any  fingering  of  things  in  his  strong  box,  when  he 
found  it  under  the  control  of  its  own  key  which  he  held  in 
possession  ;  it  might  be  broken  open,  he  knew,  by  a  crowbar 
or  other  powerful  instrument,  but  as  to  opening  it  in  a  fair 
way,  it  was  out  of  the  question.  No  lock  was  similar  to  it  in 
the  country ;  the  smith,  who  made  it  on  a  new  principle, 
having  died  just  as  this  single  one  was  completed  ;  he  had 
therefore  been  in  no  haste  to  make  particular  examination 
of  the  interior,  when,  as-  I  have  said,  it  opened  to  the  key 
which  he  generally  kept  under  his  own  eye.  But  still,  he 
4* 


82  TO    LOVE   AND    TO    BE    LOVED. 

thought  he  might  as  well  see  that  all  was  safe ;  he  had  open 
ed  it  again,  therefore,  and  was  just  removing  the  lid  from 
his  little  box,  when  Mrs.  Hunt  entered  the  room ;  he  was 
seated  on  the  chest  which  he  had  shut  down,  and  as  he  took 
out  his  papers,  one  by  one,  he  laid  them  with  great  care  be 
side  him  ;  the  last  thing  he  took  out  was  a  worsted  pocket- 
book,  tied  together  with  green  ribbon. 

"  Is  your  money  all  there,  Greordie  ?" 

Finding  that  he  did  not  make  any  reply,  but  only  looked 
up  at  her  as  he  sat  on  the  chest  with  a  wild  and  vacant  stare, 
she  took  the  pocket-book  from  his  hand,  and  began  to  ex 
amine  for  herself. 

"  Why,  there's  nothing  here  ;  did  you  keep  it  in  here  ?" 

Greordie  answered  not.  but  kept  his  eyes  still  fixed  upon 
her,  swallowing,  and  choking,  and  apparently  wishing  to  say 
something. 

"  Mr.  Hunt,  there's  nothing  here,  see,"  and  she  shook  the 
pocket-book  and  a  little  gold  piece  dropt  out. 

"  There,  that's  all  there  is ;  I  thought  you  said  last  night, 
that  you  had  six  thousand  dollars  you  was  going  to  let  the 
store  have  ?" 

"  So  I  had,"  screaming  in  a  high  voice,  "  but  it's  gone,  it's 
all  gone," — louder  and  louder — "  we're  robbed  and  ruined  ;" 
jumping  up  at  the  same  time.  "  Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear,"  walk 
ing  up  and  down  very  fast.  "  Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear,"  pressing 
his  hands  against  his  sides  as  in  great  pain.  "  Oh,  dear,  oh, 
dear ;  wife,  what  shall  I  do  ?  I  believe  I'm  getting  one  of 
my  turns  ;  we're  robbed  and  ruined.  Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear,  it's 
all  gone.  Do,  wife,  get  something,  a  little  something  or 
other  ;  I  shall  die — it  grows  worse  and  worse." 

Mrs.  Hunt  made  all  the  haste  a  person  of  her  size  well 
could,  to  prepare  some  drugs  which  she  kept  on  hand,  Mr. 
Hunt  being  subject  to  violent  attacks  of  pain.  Betty  had, 
at  that  moment,  returned  from  her  exploring  expedition  in 
regard  to  the  strange  key,  when  meeting  Mrs.  Hunt,  and 
hearing  the  uproar  in  the  vault — 

"  May  I  be  blest ! — and  what's  that  ?  is  it  another  turn 
he's  got?" 

"  Yes,  Betty,  put  on  some  water,  quick." 

"  And  that  I  will,  ma'am ;  the  poor  soul,  how  he  la 
ments." 


TO    LOVE    AND    TO    BE    LOVED.  83 

* 

Betty  had  scarcely  time,  however,  to  hang  the  kettle  on, 
whe_n  she  heard  Mr.  Hunt's  voice  calling  loudly  for  her. 
*  Betty!  Betty!" 

"  I'm  coming  the  instant,  your  honor  " 

"  About  that  key,  Betty  ;  can  you  tell  where  it  belongs  ? 
Oh,  dear  !  oh,  dear  !  where  is  it  ?" 

"  And  it's  up  in  the  boys'  room,  sir ;  jist  where  it  be 
longs." 

"  Do  you  know  the  key,  Betty  ?" 

"  And  do  I  know  myself,  sir  ?  Aint  I  locking  the  door 
every  day  after  I've  claned  the  room,  and  aint  there  the 
very  mark  Mr.  James  put  upon  it  himself.'' 

"  What  mark  ?" 

"  Why,  sir,  when  the  kay  to  the  kitchen  pantry  was  mis 
laid,  and  it  was  I  that  couldn't  get  in,  and  Mrs.  Hunt  calling 
for  supper,  and  no  supper  could  I  get  by  raison  of  the  key 
that  was  gone,  Mr.  James  was  going  through  the  entry  just 
there  away,  and  hearing  me  making  such  a  to-do,  he  asks — 
;  Betty,  what's  the  matter  ?'  '  The  matter,'  sais  I,  and  '  aint 
there  matter  enough  ?  here  are  they  calling  for  supper,  and 
no  kay  to  be  found.1  '  Let's  see,  Betty,'  sais  he,  '  what  kind 
of  a  kay  do  you  want?'  and  he  looked  at  the  door  and  says, 
'  I  guess,  Betty,  I  can  help  you.'  '  That's  a  darlin,'  sais  I, 
and  up  he  goes  and  brings  down  a  kay,  and  opened  the  door 
in  a  trice,  and  right  glad  was  I ;  and  when  I  wanted  him  to 
lave  it  until  such  time  as  the  other  could  be  found,  he  says 
— '  I'll  mark  it.  Betty,  so  that  you  shant  be  claiming  it  for 
the  kitchen,  and  Mrs.  Hunt  be  scolding  me  for  the  kay,  and 
so  he  marks  it  with  a  cross,  and  it's  plain  to  be  seen  on  it 
now." 

"  And  was  that  key  in  his  door  yesterday  ?" 

"  That's  more  nor  I  can  say,  sir,  for  it's  true  as  I  live,  I 
never  locked  it  yesterday." 

Mrs.  Hunt  now  came  with  her  mixture,  and  Betty  ran 
for  the  hot  water,  as  Mr.  Hunt  was  still  exhibiting  signs  of 
great  distress.  The  usual  remedy,  however,  soon  brought 
some  relief.  As  soon  as  he  could  attend  to  matters,  he  re 
quested  his  brother  to  be  sent  for  from  the  store ;  although 
of  very  different  dispositions,  they  were  much  attached  to 
each  other,  aud  nothing  of  a  joyous  or  troublous  nature  af 
fected  one,  but  the  other  must  be  called  to  share  in  it. 


84  TO    LOVE    AND   TO   BE   LOVED. 

» 

Mr.  Augustus  Hunt  obeyed  the  summons,  promptly,  and 
was  soon  among  them,  listening  to  the  wonderful  narration 
of  his  brother's  disaster.  He  was,  as  I  have  before  hinftd, 
the  better  looking  of  the  two,  and,  indeed,  would  have  been 
remarked  any  where  as  a  person  of  good  appearance  ;  his 
form  was  portly,  his  face  round  and  ruddy,  as  though  his  fare 
was  good  and  nourishing ;  his  eyes,  not  large,  but  they  had 
a  lively,  pleasant  twinkle ;  and  the  whole  expression  of  the 
countenance  of  that  open,  cheerful  character  which,  at  once, 
wins  the  confidence  of  the  beholder,  and  indicated  what  he 
really  was — a  shrewd,  kind-hearted  man. 

After  all  due  expressions  of  sympathy  for  his  brother's 
trial,  he  sat  down,  and,  in  a  very  calm  and  quiet  manner,  be 
gan  to  question  him  as  to  every  particular  of  the  affair. 

Geordie  answered  rather  tartly,  and  continued  to  walk 
up  and  down  the  room,  at  times  groaning  with  pain,  and 
then  uttering  a  volley  of  execrations  on  the  villain  who  had 
robbed  and  ruined  him. 

Mr.  Augustus  seemed  to  think  a  great  deal  about  the 
fact  of  the  key  being  found  in  the  door  ;  he  sent  for  it,  ex 
amined  it  closely,  scrutinized  the  mark  on  it.  and  compared 
it  with  the  key  belonging  to  the  vault. 

"  And  where,  brother  Geordie,  do  you  keep  the  key  of 
the  chest  ?" 

"  Why,  you  know,  Gussy,  I  always  keep  it  in  that  there 
cupboard  in  our  room,  right  in  sight." 

"  "Well,  do  you  always  go  to  the  chest  yourself,  or  do  you 
let  the  young  men  go  to  it  ?" 

"  No,  no,  never ;  they  never  go  to  it ;  I  always  go  to  it 
myself,  and  hang  the  key  up  just  in  that  place  ;  it  has  hung 
there  these  fifteen  years ;  that  wife  knows." 

"  Yes,  yes ;  Geordie  is  very  particular  about  that ;  he 
never  gets  into  bed,  but  the  last  thing  he  looks  at  is  the  key, 
to  see  that  it  is  safe." 

"  Are  you  sure,  brother,  that  you  examined  the  chest 
thoroughly,  and  that  there  is  no  possibility  of  its  being  in 
some  corner  or  other  there  now?  have  you  any  other  box 
there?" 

"  No,  no ;  there's  nothing  else  there  but  the  little  trunk, 
and  that  is  here  ;  I  brought  it  up  with  me.  Oh,  dear !  oh, 
dear  !  you  can  look  at  it  yourself." 


TO   LOVE   AND   TO   BE   LOVED.  85 

Mr.  Augustus  sat  silently  for  some  time,  and  then  look 
ing  significantly  at  his  brother.  "  I  think,  brother,  it  looks 
very  much  as  though  there  had  been  some  foul  play  here  ; 
don't  you  think  so? — you  say  that  you  saw  it  there  last 
night  ?" 

"  No,  no,  no  ;  I  did  not  say  last  night ;  it  is  a  week  ago 
last  night,  I  said,  since  I  counted  the  money ;  you  remem 
ber,  wife,  don't  you  ?  I  told  you  about  it.  Oh,  dear !  oh, 
dear!" 

"  Yes,  yes ;  I  remember  very  well.  Yon  see,  brother, 
Mr.  Hunt  is  very  particular  about  that  key ;  he  always  hangs 
it  up  jist  in  one  way ;  step  here  and  I'll  show  you ;  there, 
that's  the  way  he  hangs  it ;  he's  as  particular  about  it  as 
can  be.  Well,  last  week  it  was,  just  as  he  was  going  to  bed, 
he  looks  up  at  his  key  and  then  says — 'Wife,  some  one  has 
been  at  my  key ;  it  aint  hung  up  right ;'  so  I  looks  at  it, 
'  no,'  says  I,  '  it  aint  right ;'  so  he  goes  up  and  takes  down 
the  key  and  looks  at  it.  '  Somebody  has  had  this  key,  that's 
sure ;  see  here,'  and  he  comes  and  shows  it  to  me,  and  there 
seemed  to  be  something  on  it  jist  like  dough  ;'  says  I,  '  Mr. 
Hunt,  you  had  better  go  right  down  and  see  that  all  is  safe ;' 
so  down  he  went,  just  as  he  was,  and  when  he  came  back,  he 
said  it  was  all  straight,  the  money  was  all  there ;  but  we've 
always  been  puzzled  about  the  key's  being  hung  up  wrong." 

Mr.  Augustus  kept  his  eye  upon  his  brother  as  he  walked 
to  and  fro,  groaning  and  soliloquizing,  while  his  wife  was  de 
tailing  the  scene  just  recorded;  at  length,  shaking  his  head 
significantly — 

"  There's  something  wrong,  brother,  depend  upon  it 
there's  something  wrong ;  I  shouldn't  be  surprised,  brother, 
if  it  should  turn  out  that  you  had  been  robbed.  What  do 
you  think  about  it  ?" 

"  Think  about  it !  why  aint  I  told  you  a  dozen  times 
already,  that  I've  been  robbed ;  where's  the  use  of  thinking 
and  thinking  about  it.  I  know  it — there's  the  pocket-book  ; 
look  for  yourself — its  all  gone — six  thousand  dollars — all 
gone — and  if  any  body  could  tell  me — oh,  dear ;  oh,  dear — 
where  it  is — oh,  dear,  dear,  dear  !" 

"Well,  brother  Geordie,  that's  just  what  I've  been  think 
ing — the  money's  gone — that's  a  clear  case.  Now  the  next 
question  is,  where  has  it  gone  to  ?  and  my  opinion  is,"  look- 


86  TO    LOVE    AND    TO    BE    LOVED. 

ing  at  Mrs.  Hunt  very  significantly,  "  though  Geordie  must 
do  as  he  likes,  seeing  the  money  belongs  to  him,  but  my 
opinion  is,  that  he  had  better  send  for  old  Catchem ;  if  the 
money  is  to  be  found,  he  will  find  it,  and  if  the  rogue  is  in 
this  world,  he  will  catch  him,  only  give  him  the  scent." 

As  Mr.  Augustus  Hunt's  opinion  coincided  with  that  of 
his  brother,  old  Catchem,  one  of  the  chief  constables  of  the 
city  of  New-York,  was  sent  for,  and  that  great  terror  to  evil 
doers  was  soon  under  their  roof,  and  prepared  for  his  work. 

As  he  was  a  personage  not  met  with  every  day  in  the 
common  walks  of  life,  a  description  of  him  may  not  be  unin 
teresting  to  many  of  my  readers.  His  stature  was  of  medium 
size,  rather  thick  set ;  large  bushy  head ;  dark  complexion  ; 
large  projecting  eyes,  very  black  ;  aquiline  nose,  and  a  very 
large  mouth,  with  a  heavy  under  lip,  considerably  rolled  over. 
When  he  walked,  he  had  a  slouchy,  rolling  gait,  his  head 
moving  from  side  to  side,  and  his  eyes  in  perpetual  motion, 
glancing  from  object  to  object,  and  from  person  to  person, 
apparently  not  looking  long  enough  at  either  persons  or 
things  to  receive  any  impression,  and  yet,  it  is  said,  never 
passing  either  without  taking  full  cognizance  thereof,  so  as 
to  be  able  at  any  time  to  recall  them  perfectly.  He  was  a 
fearless,  faithful  officer,  and  went  straight  forward  in  the  dis 
charge  of  the  duties  before  him,  as  though  there  were  no  such 
thing  as  personal  danger,  and  without  making  much  allow 
ance  for  the  more  tender  feelings  of  human  nature. 

Mr.  Augustus  Hunt  took  upon  himself  the  task  of  ex 
plaining  matters  to  this  officer,  and  was  careful  to  mention 
that  his  brother  would  give  five  hundred  dollars  for  the  re 
cover)7  of  the  money,  with  or  without  the  thief. 

Old  Catchem  soon  showed  that  he  was  a  master  work 
man,  and  convinced  Mr.  Hunt  that  the  theft  must  have  been 
committed  by  some  member  of  his  family,  or  by  some  person 
in  the  habit  of  frequenting  his  house. 

He  summoned  the  inmates  of  the  kitchen,  Betty  and 
Jim.  and  would  not  allow  them  to  stir  from  his  presence. 
Their  niece  Sarah  was  called  in.  and  a  messenger  dispatched 
to  the  store  for  young  Edwards.  James  had  no  idea  of  the 
purpose  for  which  he  was  required,  and  appeared  to  be  much 
surprised  when  he  found  himself  in  the  presence  of  a  con 
stable,  and  heard  the  account  of  the  lost  money ;  had  he 


TO    LOVE    AND   TO    BE    LOVED.  87 

been  perfectly  innocent,  he  could  not  have  acted  more  like 
himself.  Some  few  questions  were  put  to  each  separately, 
with  special  reference  to  the  matter  of  the  key — where  it 
was  found — where  it  belonged,  &c.  Betty  was  called  upon 
to  tell  over  all  she  knew  about  it.  During  her  recital,  the 
eye  of  the  officer  rested  a  moment  on  young  Edwards ;  a 
slight  flush  passed  over  his  countenance  ;  it  was  but  a  flush, 
and  was  gone  in  an  instant,  but  Catchem  saw  it,  and  did 
not  forget  it ;  he  kept  his  eye  more  steadily  that  way.  This 
very  circumstance  might  have  aifected  James,  as  he  was  full 
of  sensibility. 

The  officer  now  desired  to  be  led  to  the  apartments  occu 
pied  by  Betty  and  Jim.  Betty  started  ahead,  muttering,  as 
she  went,  about  "  going  into  people's  rooms  before  one  had 
time  to  make  them  a  bit  decent." 

"  Never  mind,  old  lady,  I've  seen  all  kinds  of  rooms  in 
my  day." 

"  I'm  no  leddy,  nor  auld,  neither ;  but  there's  the  trunk ; 
you  may  look  as  ye  like  f  I  wants  no  money  but  what  my 
own  hands  arn — there,  look  as  ye  like,  and  be  blest  to  you  !" 

Betty's  trunk  was  pretty  thoroughly  examined,  and  then 
master  Jim  was  obliged  to  lead  the  way  to  his  roost,  which 
was  a  small  room  at  another  corner  of  the  garret ;  he  went 
directly  to  his  box.  and  was  beginning  to  throw  out  the  few 
articles  it  contained,  when  Catchem,  very  unceremoniously, 
laid  hold  of  his  collar,  and  giving  him  a  jerk,  left  him  stand 
ing  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  proceeded  to  overhaul 
Jemmie;s  treasures  in  a  very  careful  manner.  He,  manifestly, 
expected  to  find  some  clue  to  matters  here,  but  was  disap 
pointed  ;  not  any  signs  of  money,  good,  bad,  or  indifferent, 
could  be  found,  it  being  an  article  which  the  owner  of  the 
box  contrived  to  get  rid  of,  without  the  trouble  of  hoard 
ing  it. 

"  And  now,  my  young  gentleman,  show  me  the  way  to 
where  you  keep  your  choice  articles." 

Edwards  colored  deeply,  bowed  very  formally  to  him, 
and  with  a  measured  step,  proceeded  to  his  room.  He  was 
either  much  displeased  with  the  manner  of  the  constable,  or 
very  much  excited  by  some  other  cause ;  so  much  so  that 
some  of  the  family  could  not  but  notice  it. 

The  key  was  again  introduced,  and  Betty  called  upon  to 


88  TO   LOVE   AND   TO   BE    LOVED. 

repeat  her  story.  She  invoked  all  the  saints  to  witness  that 
she  spoke  nothing  but  the  truth,  and  that  Mr.  James  would 
tell  them  how  he  had  marked  it  with  his  own  hands.  The 
keen  eye  of  Catchem  was  fixed  upon  Edwards  during  her 
recital,  and  when  she  ceased,  he  was  asked  to  repeat  the  cir 
cumstances  himself. 

"  I  think,  sir,  you  have  had  already  sufficient  explanation 
as  to  the  identity  of  the  key." 

"  Well,  young  gentleman,  how  do  you  accouut  for  this 
key  being  found  in  the  door  of  the  vault  ?" 

"  I  do  not  feel,  sir,  that  it  is  my  business  to  account  for 
it,"  at  the  same  time  eyeing  his  interrogator  with  a  look  of 
scorn. 

"  Perhaps  you  may  find  it  your  business,  before  you  get 
through — so  don't  be  huffy,  sir.  Who  occupies  this  room 
with  you  ?" 

"  No  one,  sir." 

"  Do  you  ever  carry  that  key  in  your  pocket  ?" 

«  No,  I  do  not." 

"  Are  you  in  the  habit  of  locking  that  door  ?" 

"  Occasionally." 

"  Is  the  key  always  kept  in  it  ?" 

"  I  believe  it  is." 

"  Have  you  missed  the  key  this  day  or  two  ?" 

"  I  did  miss  it." 

';  Have  you  made  any  inquiries  in  the  family  for  it  ?" 

Edwards  colored  deeply  again. 

"  No,  I  did  not ;  I  thought — I  supposed  it  had  been 
taken  probably  for  some  other  door  in  the  house." 

"  Now,  young  man,  let  me  have  the  key  of  this  trunk ;  it 
is  yours,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  That  you  shall  not  have,  sir.  If  Mr.  Hunt  suspects 
that  there  is  any  thing  in  my  trunk  belonging  to  him.  I  will 
open  it,  and  satisfy  him  that  there  is  nothing  in  it  but  my 
own  property." 

"  Young  man,  I  order  you  to  hand  me  the  key  of  that 
trunk,  and  let  me  open  it  and  examine  its  contents  ;  if  you 
do  not.  it  shall  be  opened  by  force." 

"  Touch  it,  sir,  at  your  peril ;  I  have  already  offered  to 
satisfy  those  who  have  any  interest  in  this  matter ;  let  any 
one  else  touch  it  at  their  peril."  As  he  said  this,  he  stepped 


TO    LOVE   AND    TO    BE   LOVED.  89 

up  close  to  the  trunk,  and  with  an  eye  flashing  indignation, 
surveyed  the  group  before  him. 

"  Young  man,"  said  the  officer,  at  the  same  time  taking  a 
short  iron  instrument  from  his  pocket,  "you  might  as  well 
save  all  this  trouble ;  this  trunk  shall  be  opened,  with  your 
leave  or  without  it,  just  as  you  please."  So  saying,  he  step 
ped  deliberately  towards  it,  when  Betty,  fearing  Mr.  James 
was  "  going  to  be  kilt,"  threw  herself  between  him  and  the 
constable — 

"  For  the  love  of  goodness,  Mr.  James,  give  him  the  kay, 
give  him  the  kay,  and  save  your  young  blood,  and  character 
too."  With  that,  she  wrested  the  key  violently  from  his 
hand  and  threw  it  on  the  floor. 

"  There,  honey,  now,  let  him  have  it,  let  him  look  as  he 
likes  ;  he'll  never  find  any  thing  there  but  belongs  to  it.  Do, 
do,  now  honey,"  seeing  James  making  efforts  to  recover  the 
key ;  "  for  the  love  of  goodness,  Mr.  James,  hear  to  me,  and 
leave  him  to  look." 

James's  better  sense  returned  to  him,  he  felt  that  he  was 
wrong,  and  Betty  in  the  right.  He  took  a  stand  at  some 
distance,  with  the  rest,  and  suffered  the  examination  to  pro 
ceed,  looking  on  as  an  indifferent  spectator. 

Every  article  in  the  body  of  the  trunk  was  thoroughly 
searched,  and  replaced.  Nothing  that  could  be  claimed  by 
any  one  but  Edwards  was  there. 

The  little  rod  was  then  taken  out,  which  secured  the 
opening  into  the  cover  of  the  trunk ;  the  officer  thrusted  his 
hand  into  it  and.  almost  immediately,  brought  out  a  small 
parcel,  and.  on  opening  it,  discovered  a  roll  of  bank-bills. 

"  Mr.  Hunt,  are  these  the  bills  which  you  have  lost?" 

Mr.  Hunt  took  them,  and  examined  the  backs  of  each 
carefully. 

"  These  are  some  of  them,  sir ;  I  marked  them  with  the 
letter  D.  in  red  ink ;  you  can  all  examine  them." 

The  identity  of  the  bills  was;  abundantly  proved  ;  but 
only  five  hundred  dollars  of  the  amount  could  be  discovered 
in  the  trunk  by  the  most  scrutinizing  search. 

It  would  be  vain  to  attempt  a  description  of  the  scene 
which  followed.  James  had  been  a  great  favorite  in  the 
family ;  his  amiable  disposition,  his  respectful  behavior,  the 
care  he  took  to  give  as  little  trouble  as  possible,  his  whole  de- 


90  TO   LOVE   AND    TO   BE    LOVED. 

meaner,  so  unassuming,  yet  so  engaging,  had  won  the  hearts 
of  all.  It  was  a  sad.  sad  fall.  Mrs.  Hunt  sat  down,  over 
whelmed  with  astonishment  Betty  wrung  her  hands,  in 
deep  distress. 

••  Oh.  Mr.  James,  Mr.  James !  Is  it  yourself  that  has 
done  this  ?r: 

The  Messrs.  Hunt  were  sorely  confounded ;  such  a  re 
sult  they  had  not  anticipated.  They  had  been  highly  pleased 
with  his  faithfulness  and  business  talents  ;  always  in  his  place, 
ever  attentive  to  their  interests,  critically  correct  in  his  ac 
counts,  and  prompt  in  every  duty  committed  to  him,  he  had 
won  their  entire  confidence ;  the  present  catastrophe  was  like  a 
thunder-clap  with  a  bright  sun  and  a  cloudless  sky. 

There  was  yet  another  witness  of  that  trying  scene.  She 
sat  silent  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  her  face  covered,  while 
tears  were  falling,  such  as  lovely  woman  sheds  when  her  pure 
and  trusting  heart  meets  the  cruel  thorn  where  it  had  hoped 
to  find  a  holy  resting  place. 

Young  Edwards  had  stepped  up  with  the  rest,  to  look  at 
the  bills :  he  said  nothing,  but  retiring  to  a  seat,  rested  his 
head  upon  his  hand,  and  seemed  overwhelmed  by  the  perilous 
situation  in  which  he  found  himself.  The  ofiicer  took  the 
Messrs.  Hunt  aside,  and  after  some  conversation  with  them, 
all  were  requested  to  leave  the  room,  and  the  officer  and  Ed 
wards  were  left  alone  together. 

-  Now.  young  man.  I  don't  wish  to  injure  you ;  this  mat 
ter  can  all  be  stopped  where  it  is ;  you  just  show  me  where 
the  old  man's  money  is,  and  save  all  my  searching,  and  your 
self  a  turn  in  the  State's  Prise j  too;  hand  me  the  money, 
and  Til  see  you  clear  in  less  than  no  time." 

Edwards  arose  from  his  seat,  and  fixed  his  eye  calmly  and 
steadily  upon  the  officer  :  "  I  regret  exceedingly,  sir.  that  I 
suffered  my  feelings  so  far  to  control  me.  and  that  I  did  not, 
as  I  ought  to  have  done,  yield  at  once  to  }Tour  right  in  mak 
ing  a  search  for  the  stolen  money.'" 

-Never  mind  that;  that's  nothing:  I'm  used  to  such 
things  ;  young  blood  will  show  itself — that's  neither  here  nor 
there  ;  all  you  have  to  do  now,  is  just  to  plank  down  the  rest, 
and  I'll  have  you  out  of  harm's  way,  and  no  more  said  about  it," 

••  I  have  no  desire,  sir.  to  get  out  of  harm's  way.  as  you 
call  it :  I  have  no  money  to  give  up,  nor  had  I  any  knowledge 


TO    LOVE    AND    TO    BE    LOVED.  91 

of  that  which  you  have  just  found ;  it  is  as  much  a  mystery 
to  me.  as  to  yourself,  how  it  came  there." 

-  It  is  no  mystery  at  all  to  me  ;  and  for  you  to  stand  there 
and  deny  it.  is  only  wasting  words  :  come,  come.  I'm  too  old  a 
hand  for  you  at  this  game." — raising  his  voice,  and  fixing  his 
eye  sternly  on  Edwards. — -  show  me  the  rest  of  that  money, 
if  you  don't  want  these  pretty' wristbands  on,"  at  the  same 
time  taking  out  of  his  pocket  a  pair  of  handcuffs  :  -  many  a 
fine  fellow  has  had  these  on  before  you — come,  come,  I  can't 
wait." 

Had  the  spirit  of  young  Edwards  been  about  to  take  its 
flight  into  another  world,  it  could  scarcely  have  left  a  more 
bloodless  cheek  :  the  sight  of  those  instruments  of  degrada 
tion  was  enough ;  he  sank  into  the  chair  beside  him,  helpless 
as  a  child. 

••  Come.  come,  young  man  ;  I'm  no  fool  to  be  tricked  in 
this  way  ;  your  theatrical  pranks  won't  go  with  me  ;  I've  seen 
too  many  of  'em ;  I'm  in  earnest  with  you — it's  your  last 
chance  ;  when  I  snap  this  lock,  you  are  done  for." 

A  few  moments  the  officer  waited,  but  James  answered 
not.  nor  did  he  make  the  least  resistance,  but  submitting  to 
his  fate,  was  led  from  the  room,  a  manacled  culprit. 


CHAPTER  X. 

ON  the  evening  of  the  eventful  day  which  has  been  des 
cribed  in  the  last  chapter,  every  thing  had  settled  into  quiet- 
;i  the  mansion  of  Mr.  Hunt.  James  had  departed 
under  the  care  of  the  officer  of  the  law.  and  the  agonized 
feelings  of  the  family,  if  not  allayed,  were  suppressed  into 
silence  like  that  which  pervades  the  house  of  mourning,  when 
the  funeral  rites  are  ended,  and  those  who  had  been  weep 
ing  around  the  grave,  have  returned  to  their  desolate  home. 
Each  heart  is  swelled  with  emotion,  and  the  words  r- 
are  few.  and  in  accents  of  peculiar  tenderu 

In  the  parlor,  the  lamps  had  not  yet  been  lighted,  but 
the  cheerful  blaze  of  a  coal  fire  was  sufficient  to  reveal,  with 


92  TO   LOVE   AND   TO   BE   LOVED. 

distinctness,  every  object  in  the  room  ;  immediately  before  it 
sat  a  female,  young  and  beautiful ;  she  was  leaning  against 
the  back  of  her  chair,  her  hands  lay  folded  idly  upon  her  lap, 
and  her  feet  resting  against  the  small  and  brightly  polished 
fender  ;  her  light  brown  hair  was  neatly  parted  from  her  fair 
forehead ;  her  eyes,  shaded  by  long,  dark  lashes,  were  fixed 
upon  the  sporting,  flickering  blaze,  apparently  watching  the 
explosions  of  the  bituminous  mass ;  her  mouth,  which  seemed 
formed  for  a  smile,  closely  shut,  and  the  upper  lip  slightly 
curling,  gave  a  cast  of  serious  thought  which  the  other  fea 
tures  did  not  betoken.  To  look  upon  her  now,  how  unlike 
the  lively,  laughing,  easy-tempered  young  lady,  whose  spright 
ly  step,  and  cheerful  smile,  and  musical  voice,  shed  such 
pleasantness  and  life  around  this  otherwise  dull  family. 

As  she  sat  musing,  a  knock  at  the  door  startled  her. 

"Oh,  dear !  I  hope  there  will  be  no  company  here  this 
evening." 

She  then  hastily  lighted  a  lamp  on  the  table,  left  her  seat 
before  the  fire,  removed  her  chair  to  a  corner,  and  assuming 
a  becoming  attitude,  should  a  stranger  enter,  was  prepared 
to  receive  whomsoever  it  might  be. 

The  door  opened,  and  she  perceived  that  it  was  no 
stranger. 

"  Good  evening,  cousin  Rudolph ;"  she  did  not  rise  from 
her  seat,  nor  did  she  greet  him  with  that  pleasant  smile 
which  was  wont,  like  sunshine,  to  illumine  and  adorn  her 
salutation. 

"  Good  evening,  cousin  Sarah,  are  you  all  alone  ?" 

"  I  have  been  alone  for  a  short  time ;  I  expect  uncle  and 
aunt  in  soon,  however." 

Rudolph  Hunt,  for  it  was  he  who  had  entered,  helped 
himself  to  a  chair,  and,  as  he  took  his  seat,  put  on  a  smile  of 
complacency. 

'•  I  am  right  glad,  cousin  Sarah,  that  I  have  come  in  ;  I 
think  you  must  be  lonesome  here." 

"  It  is  rather  lonesome,  this  evening,"  looking  steadily  at 
her  sewing,  which  she  had  taken  up  on  his  entrance. 

"  I  thought  you  would  all  feel  rather  down  this  evening, 
after  what  has  happened  to-day;  poor  James!  who  would 
have  thought  it  ?" 

Sarah  cast  her  eye  from  her  work  ;  it  glanced  from  her 


TO    LOVE    AND    TO    BE    LOVED.  93 

cousin  to  the  fire  and  then  settled  on  her  work  again  ;  she 
met  his  keen,  inquiring  gaze ;  it  chilled  her  heart ;  she  made 
no  reply. 

"  Did  you  see  James  when  he  went  off?" 

«  No,  I  did  not." 

"  I  should  not  like  to  have  seen  him,  either ;  James  ap 
pears  to  be  a  good-hearted  fellow,  although — " 

Sarah  looked  at  her  cousin  ;  but  his  eye  turned  not  to 
wards  her  ;  he  was  looking  steadily  at  the  fire. 

"  Although  what,  cousin  Rudolph?" 

"  Oh.  nothing  ;  only  I  was  going  to  say,  he  sometimes 
appears  singular,  don't  you  think  so  ?  have  you  never  no 
ticed  any  thing  ?" 

"  No,  I  cannot  say  that  I  have." 

"  Well.  I  don't  know  but  I  judge  wrong ;  but  he  don't 
seem  to  be  open — there  is  something  about  him  you  can't 
get  at." 

Sarah  made  no  further  reply  ;  in  fact,  she  did  not  relish 
the  turn  which  the  conversation  had  taken  ;  it  was  mani 
festly  unpleasant  to  her.  Rudolph  was  her  cousin,  and  like 
her,  dependent  upon  the  kindness  of  their  uncles ;  he  had 
been  very  attentive  to  her,  and  she  had  formerly  recipro 
cated  his  attentions.  As  long  as  he  made  his  home  at  their 
uncle's,  she  treated  him  with  the  utmost  kindness ;  no  sister 
could  have  been  more  obliging,  and,  although  she  saw  many 
things  in  him  which  she  could  have  wished  were  otherwise, 
she  passed  them  over  as  matters  which  she  could  not  regu 
late,  never  dreaming  that  Rudolph  could  ever  be  any  thing 
to  her  but  her  attentive  gallant,  her  kind  cousin.  But  Sarah 
was  not  one,  with  whom  a  young  person  in  Rudolph's  situa 
tion,  could  well  be  on  such  terms  of  intimacy,  and  still  be  so 
able  to  control  his  affections  that  no  interest  should  be  ex 
cited  for  her  beyond  what  a  cousin  might  demand. 

There  was  too  much  virtuous  simplicity,  unaffected  frank 
ness,  and  noble,  open-hearted  generosity ;  there  was  too 
much  personal  beauty  and  mental  loveliness,  not  to  capti 
vate  a  heart  less  susceptible  than  his ;  and  besides  all  this, 
Sarah  was  the  darling  of  her  uncle,  the  younger  Mr.  Hunt ; 
she  was  the  orphan  child  of  a  beloved  sister  ;  he  had  taken 
upon  himself  to  educate  and  support  her,  and  had  made  no 
secret  of  the  matter,  that  "  his  Sally,"  as  he  called  her,  was 


94  TO   LOVE   AND   TO    BE   LOVED. 

to  be  the  heiress  of  his  estate.  So  beauty  and  mental  worth, 
a  warm  heart,  and  doubtless  a  handsome  fortune,  were  all 
united  in  this  frank,  laughing,  lively,  confiding  cousin  ;  and 
he  was  not  to  be  blamed  if  he  did  love  her.  But  Sarah  had 
not  the  most  distant  idea  of  yielding  her  heart  to  one.  in 
whose  moral  integrity,  she  could  not  confide  ;  and  when  he 
had  ventured  to  test  the  nature  of  her  affection  for  him,  by 
placing  himself  in  the  attitude  of  a  suitor,  she,  at  once,  drew 
a  line  between  herself  and  him,  strong  and  well  defined. 

Rudolph  was  deeply  chagrined  at  such  a  result ;  he  was 
handsome,  and  he  knew  it ;  he  had  acquired  those  accom 
plishments  which  render  youth  and  a  fine  person  so  engag 
ing,  and  he  was  a  partner  in  a  very  flourishing  concern,  with 
an  almost  certain  prospect  of  future  wealth ;  these,  he 
thought,  were  advantages  which  few  could  offer,  and  which 
his  vanity  prompted  him  to  believe,  few  could  resist.  But 
to  Sarah  they  offered  no  inducements ;  her  heart  recoiled 
at  any  intimacy  with  one,  whose  integrity  she  doubted. 

Whether  James  Edwards  had  been,  in  the  least,  the 
cause  of  Rudolph's  discomfiture,  I  will  not  pretend  to  say  ; 
if  so,  he  was  the  innocent  cause ;  he  had  never  talked  of  love, 
nor  had  he  used  any  arts  to  gain  the  heart  of  Sarah  ;  he  did, 
indeed,  enjoy  the  frequent  opportunities  afforded  him,  as  a 
member  of  the  family,  of  waiting  upon  her  to  an  evening 
party,  or  of  conversing  with  her  in  the  domestic  circle;  there 
was  a  wonderful  agreement  in  all  their  views,  and.  of  late,  a 
new  chord  had  been  struck,  whose  vibrations  awoke  sensa 
tions  of  peculiar  interest  within  each  heart.  They  had  been 
religiously  educated,  and  Sarah's  mother  had,  with  her  dying 
breath,  commended  her  orphan  child  to  the  care  of  a  cove 
nant  God,  and  begged,  as  her  last  petition,  that  whatever 
else  might  be  her  lot,  she  might  be  encircled  in  that  blessed 
covenant  which  she  believed  to  be  well  ordered  in  all  things. 
James,  we  know,  was  the  darling  object  for  whom  a  widowed 
mother's  prayers  daily  ascended  before  the  throne  of  grace, 
but  it  was  only  within  a  few  months,  that  he  appeared  to  feel 
any  particular  interest  in  the  subject,  as  a  personal  matter. 

Whether  it  was  that  the  gentle  words  which  James  had 
ventured  to  speak,  in  reference  to  his  own  feelings,  had  af 
fected  her,  or  whether  the  same  cloud  whose  mercy  drops 
sprinkled  his  youthful  spirit  had  also  bedewed  and  softened 


TO    LOVE    AND   TO    BE    LOVED.  95 

hers,  I  cannot  say  ;  but  true  it  was,  a  congenial  feeling  pos 
sessed  them  ;  there  was  a  oneness  in  their  sympathies,  of 
which,  perhaps,  neither  of  them  was  aware,  but  which  was 
drawing  their  affections  into  a  close  and  holy  bond. 

Sarah  had  taken  her  work  as  Rudolph  came  in.  and  ply 
ing  her  needle  diligently,  seemed  more  disposed  to  attend  to 
that,  than  to  the  conversation  of  her  visitor,  and  therefore, 
after  a  few  vain  attempts  to  excite  her  interest  in  any  of  the 
common  topics,  he  took  his  leave. 

No  sooner  had  he  left  the  house,  than  she  laid  aside  her 
work,  and  resuming  her  seat  before  the  fire,  indulged  the  all- 
absorbing  thoughts  that  crowded  upon  her ;  she  was  deeply 
agitated  ;  clasping  her  hands  before  her,  and  raising  her  eye 
to  heaven  as  the  big  tears  glistened  and  then  silently  fell — 
'•  I  will  see  him ;  I  will  know,  from  his  own  lips,  the  whole 
truth.  Oh,  my  Father  !  help  me  to  bear  this  trial ;  help  me 

to  walk  fearlessly  in  the  path  of  duty.  Sustain  him " 

but  she  could  say  no  more ;  her  overcharged  feelings  burst 
forth ;  she  indulged  them  for  a  few  moments,  then  rising 
calmly,  walked  with  a  light  step  from  the  room,  and  de 
scended  to  the  kitchen.  Betty  looked  round  as  she  entered. 

'•  Oh  !  Miss  Sarah,  and  is  it  you  ?  So  glad  am  I  to  see 
you.  for  I've  been  wishing  some  one  would  just  step  in  a  bit, 
so  lonesome  it  is,  for  Jim,  he's  been  away,  and  it's  all  so 
still  about  the  house ;  ochone,  this  is  the  warst  day  of  my 
life." 

Sarah  could  not  reply ;  she  took  her  seat  by  the  side  of 
Betty,  and  listened  to  the  outpouring  of  her  lamentations 
over  the  sad  doings  of  the  day ;  the  good  woman  soon  work 
ed  herself  up  to  a  high  pitch,  until  the  big  tears  fell  upon 
her  clean,  white  apron. 

';  To  think  of  him,  a  nice  young  gentleman,  in  the  hands 
of  that  ould  snapdragon  !  if  I  couldn't  have  taken  the  life  out 
of  him,  Miss  Sarah,  so  rude  as  he  was — and  spaking  in  such 
a  rough  and  bearish  manner — and  the  dear  sowl !  niver  a 
word  did  he  answer,  only  when  the  ould  whelp  took  hold  of 
his  arm  so — and  began  to  jirk  him  along — says  James,  '  I'll 
go  with  you,  sir,  without  your  help ;'  but,  oh,  dear,  oh.  dear, 
that  my  eyes  had  never  seen  such  a  sight.  I  steps  up  to 
him.  and  says  I.  '  Mr.  Edwards,  keep  up  a  good  heart,  for  I 
believe  you're  innocent,  for  all  that's  passed  yet.'  '  Do  you, 


96  TO    LOVE    AND    TO   BE    LOVED. 

Betty?'  says  he;  and  believe  me,  Miss  Sarah,  the  tear  came 
in  his  eye,  and  he  kind  o'  smiled,  and  his  lip  trembled  ;  '  yes/ 
said  I,  '  and  you'll  prove  it  to  them  yet.'  " 

Betty  saw  that  she  was  saying  too  much  for  Sarah's  com 
fort. 

"  Never  mind,  never  mind,  my  dear  young  leddy ;  it's 
not  to  hurt  you  that  I  spake." 

"  It  does  not  trouble  me,  Betty ;  but  I  am  glad  to  hear 
you  say  that  you  believe  him  innocent." 

"  And  that's  what  I  do  ;  but  it's  sore  against  him  now ; 
and  Jim  says,  they've  got  it  down  at  the  store  that  its  gam 
bled  he  has — but  I  tell  Jim  it's  a  lie — he  gambled — oh, 
dear ;  oh,  dear.  I  tell  you  what,  Miss  Sarah,"  putting  her 
head  close  to  the  young  lady's,  "  there's  them  that  aint  a 
great  ways  off,  that  knows  more  about  the  matter  than  Mr. 
Edwards  does — that's  my  guess." 

"  Well,  Betty,  would  you  not  like  to  see  James,  and  talk 
with  him  about  it?" 

"Wouldn't  I,  Miss  Sarah?  that's  what  I  would." 

"  I  have  made  up  my  mind,  Betty,  that  I  must  see  him, 
and  that  this  night,  if  I  can  get  you  to  go  with  me." 

Betty  put  up  both  hands,  and  raising  her  eyes  at  the 
same  time.  "  It's  no  in  her  right  mind  that  she  is.  My 
dear  young  leddy,  are  you  clean  demented  1  Why,  he's  in 
the  old  city  prison,  and  it  makes  my  heart  quake  to  look  at 
it  in  the  day  time,  barrin'  going  into  it — but  it's  no  there 
you'll  catch  Betty  to-night,  nor  you,  my  dear  young  leddy, 
neither." 

"  Why,  Betty,  I've  been  thinking  a  great  deal  about  it, 
and  I  cannot  rest  to-night  without  seeing  him.  You  know, 
Betty,  that  he  has  no  friends  to  step  forward  and  aid  him  ; 
his  mother  and  sisters  are  away ;  my  uncles  will  not  go  near 
him,  and  Rudolph — " 

"  Ay,  ay,  catch  him  there,  my  darling,  he's  no  that  friend 
that  James  thinks  for — but,  my  dear  leddy,  it's  not  to  the 
prison  that  you  must  go  this  night ;  why,  your  young  heart 
would  tremble  to  hear  your  own  footsteps  in  the  dreary 
place,  let  alone  the  great  bolts  and  the  heavy  doors,  sound 
ing  like  thunder  through  the  old  bare  walls ;  no,  no,  Miss 
Sarah,  it's  no  place  for  you.  and  the  night  is  dark." 

However.  Sarah  had  made  up  her  mind,  and  Betty  had  a 


TO    LOVE    AND    TO    BE    LOVED.  97 

sincere  regard  for  her,  and  when  she  saw  that  there  was 
danger  of  Sarah's  attempting  it  alone,  she,  with  great  re 
luctance,  consented  to  accompany  her,  but  it  was  with  many 
crossings  of  herself,  and  many  ejaculations  for  mercy  on 
them.  "  For  such  an  errand  no  poor  woman  creatures  ever 
went  upon  before.  Oh,  that  I  was  yet  to  be  born !  Such 
a  weary  world  as  it  is." 

But  when  Betty  set  about  getting  ready,  she  showed 
clearly  that  she  had  her  wits  about  her.  She  disguised 
Sarah  in  some  over-garments  of  her  own,  and  then,  stepping 
into  the  pantry,  gathered  up  a  few  choice  bita. 

"  The  poor  soul  might  be  hungry,  and  craving  a  morsel 
nice  to  eat." 


CHAPTER  XL 

IT  would  be  difficult  to  imagine  a  situation  more  lamentable 
than  that  of  James  Edwards,  as  he  paced  the  gloomy  apart 
ment  to  which  he  had  been  consigned — the  upper  west-room 
of  the  old  city  prison.  The  shades  of  night  had  fallen,  and 
the  light  of  the  lamps,  which  glittered  upon  the  great 
thoroughfare  of  the  city,  threw  their  glimmer  into  his  iron- 
grated  window,  and  shadowed  forth  upon  the  ceiling  above, 
the  token  of  his  degradation ;  he  could  hear  light  footsteps 
of  his  happy  fellow- beings,  hurrying  past,  and  the  floor  be 
neath  would  tremble,  as  the  heavy  coach  rolled  by,  bearing 
its  gay  inmates  to  some  scene  of  festive  enjoyment,  or  to 
some  cheerful,  happy  home ;  none,  among  that  throng,  cared 
for  him ;  a  finger  might,  indeed,  be  pointed  at  his  prison 
house,  as  the  passer-by  told  of  his  crime  and  its  detection ; 
but  none  cared  for  the  anguish  that  racked  his  bosom,  nor 
thought  of  giving  consolation  to  one  who  had  fallen  from  his 
integrity,  and  forfeited  his  fair  fame  ;  perhaps,  had  they 
known  the  story  of  his  past  life,  there  might  have  been  those 
who  would  have  stepped  forward  to  the  rescue,  and  not  have 
suffered  the  iron  to  enter  his  soul,  at  least,  before  he  had 
been  allowed  an  impartial  trial.  But,  ah  !  who  was  there  to 
tell  his  story  ?  James  felt  the  sad  reality  of  all  this ;  the 
5 


J 

98  TO    LOVE   AND    TO    BE    LOVED. 

iron  gratings  and  the  heavy  bars,  that  shut  him  from  the 
world,  were  to  his  spirit  like  the  torturing  rack ;  not  that 
he  eared,  now,  to  be  at  liberty ;  it  was  not  the  walls  of  his 
prison,  so  bare  and  cold,  nor  the  bed  of  straw,  nor  the  dark 
ness  and  loneliness  of  his  cell ;  the  prison,  in  which  his  soul 
was  shut  up  was  stronger  and  gloomier  than  they.  His  fair 
fame  was  gone,  and  until  the  stain  that  polluted  it  was 
washed  away,  he  must  be  an  outcast.  To  whom,  now,  can 
those  helpless  ones  look  for  their  daily  bread ;  they,  with 
him,  have  fallen,  dependents  upon  the  cold  charities  of  the 
world. 

As  these  thoughts  rioted  within  his  troubled  breast,  the 
heavy  peals  from  the  bell  of  an  adjoining  steeple  tolled  the 
hour  of  the  evening  ;  he  paused  to  count  their  number  ;  he 
heard  footsteps  approaching ;  the  key  was  ap"plied  to  the 
door  of  his  room  ;  the  heavy  bolt  flew  back,  and  the  keeper 
entered,  followed  by  two  females.  Placing  a  small  lamp 
upon  the  dark  oaken  table,  and  telling  them  he  would  return 
in  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  he  retired,  turning  the  key  upon 
them. 

The  first  thought  with  James  was,  that  the  jailer  had 
thrust  in  two  other  unfortunate  beings  like  himself  to  share 
his  cell.  The  next  moment  the  eye  of  the  lovely  Sarah, 
beaming  with  emotion,  was  fixed  upon  him.  She  had  thrown 
off  the  hood  and  cloak  in  which  she  had  been  disguised,  and 
as  she  stood  gazing  upon  him,  just  as  she  appeared  at  home, 
she  seemed  like  an  angel  of  mercy  that  had  descended  to  shed 
some  rays  of  light  and  hope  on  his  dreary  path. — James  was 
confounded ;  his  mind  had  been  deeply  agitated ;  he  knew 
not  but  his  reason  was  departing.  He  was  soon  assured, 
however,  that  it  was  no  vision,  for  Betty  had  unrobed  herself, 
and  stepping  up,  presented  to  him  some  of  the  dainties  of  her 
pantry. 

"  You'll  be  remembering  these,  Mr.  James — they're  clane 
as  my  own  hands  can  make  'em." 
1        "  Why,  Betty,  have  you  come  here  ?" 

"  Indeed,  aiid  I  have — but  it's  not  me  that's  to  be  thank 
ed  for  this  turn ;  it's  my  dear  young  leddy,  she  would  come, 
whether  or  no." 

Sarah  had  not  considered  how  she  would  appear,  nor 
how  she  would  feel  when  in  the  immediate  presence  of  Ed- 


TO    LOVE   AND    TO    BE    LOVED.  99 

wards ;  it  was  the  committal  of  her  interest  in  him  to  an  ex 
tent,  which  she  did  not  realize,  until  Betty's  plainness  and 
unsophisticated  kindness  revealed  the  secret.  She  blushed  ; 
she  even  felt  the  rich  crimson  suffusing  her  countenance, 
and  her  heart,  for  the  first  time,  beat  with  that  trembling, 
suffocating  emotien,  which  accompanies  the  acknowledgment 
of  reciprocal  love.  James  knew  not  how  to  act.  His  first 
impulse  was  to  clasp  her  to  his  bosom :  to  tell  her  that  she 
was  dearer  to  him  than  life  itself;  but  the  thought  of  his  de 
graded  condition,  of  the  humbling  scenes  he  had  passed 
through  that  day,  and  which  she  had  witnessed,  urged  him  the 
next  moment  to  shrink  from  her  sight. 

"  Oh,  Sarah,  Sarah  !"  and  he  covered  his  face. 

"  James^"  said  she,  - 1  suppose  t  have  acted  rashly ;  I 
have  done  wrong,  but  I  could  not  rest.  I  want  to  hear,  from 
your  own  mouth,  some  account  of  this  strange  business." 

••  Y»u  have  ki  own  and  S<H.:II  too  much  already." 

'•  But  before  I  can  believe,  James,  that  you  are  guilty,  I 
must  hear  the  acknowledgment  from  your  own  lips." 

'•  It  will»avail  but  little  if  I  should  deny  it,  so  long  as  the 
proofs  are  so  strong  against  me." 

••  Will  it  avail  nothing.  James,  to  let  me  know  what  so 
deeply  concerns  you  ?" 

James  looked  at  her  with  his  keen,  bright  eye,  as  though 
he  wished  to  read  the  secrets  of  her  soul.  She  shrank  not 
from  his  gaze  ;  her  eye  was  softened  by  a  tear,  and  her  whole 
countenance  glowed  with  emotion. 

"  Sarah,  do  you  believe  me  innocent  ?" 

'•  I  do — I  firmly  believe  it." 

'•  And  so  do  I.  Mr.  James — and  may  the  time  come  when 
it  will  be  proved  so.  and  your  inemies  confounded." 

James  put  out  his  hand,  and  tenderly  taking  one  of  Sa 
rah's,  ;'  I  thank  you  most  truly  for  this  expression  of  your  confi 
dence  ;  it  is  indeed  the  oil  of  consolation  to  my  wounded 
spirit.  I  know  not  what  awaits  me,  nor  through  what  scenes 
of  trial  I  am  yet  to  pass,  but  this  act  of  yours.  Sarah,  this- 
expression  of  your  confidence  will  make  a  prison  or  a  dungeon, 
light  and  pleasant.  I  am  innocent.  Sarah  ;  and  to  Him,  who 
knows  my  heart,  who  sees  every  act  I  do.  and  every  thought 
that  passes  through  my  mind,  do  I  most  solemnly  appeal,  that 
what  I  say  is  true." 


100  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

Sarah  watched  his  eye  as  it  rose  in  solemn  reverence  to 
wards  the  dwelling  place  of  Him  whose  Omniscience  he  in 
voked. 

"  I  believe  you — I  believe  you,"  said  she.  pressing  his 
hand  with  both  of  hers,  "  but  can  you  not  tell  who  has  done 
it  ?  Can  you  not  get  out  of  this  dreadful  place  ?  Oh,  how 
long  must  you  be  here  ! !" 

James  shook  his  head. 

"  Is  tiiere  no  one  whom  you  suspect  ?" 

"  Ah  !  Sarah,  suspicion  will  not  do,  and  it  may  be  unjust. 
No,  I  see  nothing  before  me  but  infamy,  degradation  and 
ruin ;  I  shall  be  classed  with  felons,  and  stigmatized  as  a  hy 
pocrite,  yet  I  could  even  bear  this,  if  I  could  but  suffer  alone. 
They,  too,  must  go  down  with  me — must  be  beggars." 

He  could  say  no  more — his  proud  spirit  labored  under 
the  oppressive  load. 

Sarah  saw  the  tender  chord  which  had  been  touched  ;  her 
mind  sympathized  in  the  trouble  that  was  agitating  his,  and 
her  noble  spirit  rose  above  the  little  forms,  so  useful  in  the 
common  scenes  of  life  ;  she  felt  that  it  was  no  time  to  hide 
the  honest  feelings  of  a  heart  that  was  bound  up  in  this 
suffering  young  man. 

"  James,  your  mother  and  sisters  shall  be  mine.  I  will 
do  for  them  what  you  have  done ;  I  am  abundantly  able ; 
they  shall  never  want." 

"  Sarah,  my  own  dear  Sarah."  He  clasped  her  to  his  bo 
som.  "  May  God  bless  you.  for  ever  and  ever  !" 

She  shrank  not  from  his  embrace,  but  suffered  him  to 
feel,  that  she  willingly  yielded  the  token  that  she  was  all  his 
own. 

The  footsteps  of  the  jailer  were  now  heard  approaching. 

"  James,  let  us  hope  in  that  Being  to  whom  you  have 
appealed  this  night ;  He  can  do  for  us  what  we  cannot  do  for 
ourselves." 

Betty  was  not  an  unconcerned  spectator  of  the  scene 
which  had  just  past,  but  she  kept  a  respectful  silence,  until 
she  saw  Miss  Sarah  preparing  to  depart ;  then  stepping  up 
to  James  and  taking  his  hand :  -  Mr.  James,  may  God  bless 
you."  James  felt  that  she  was  placing  something  within  it ; 
he  looked  at  it ;  it  was  a  gold  eagle. 

"  No,  no,  Betty,  this  must  not  be ;  you  will  rob  yourself.'"' 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  101 

"  Not  a  bit,  not  a  bit ;  kape  it,  you  dear  sowl ;  the  like 
o'  them  here  won't  be  aiding  you  without  the  help  of  a  little 
of  that,"  and  she  turned  her  back,  and  as  the  jailer  was 
waiting.  James  was  soon  left  to  ponder  alone  on  the  unex 
pected  vision  which  had  just  passed. 

Sarah  retired  to  rest  that  night,  but  she  could  not  sleep ; 
too  many  conflicting  feelings  rioted  in  her  troubled  breast ; 
one  bright  spot  alone  there  was,  around  which  her  young 
affections  loved  to  hover ;  but  dark  and  troublous  clouds 
kept  passing  over  the  beauteous  vision.  That  James  was 
innocent,  she  now  firmly  believed ;  that  they  mutually  loved, 
she  no  longer  doubted ;  and  when  she  thought  of  that  brief 
moment  of  bliss,  that  before  unknown  delight,  that  incom 
municable  joy  of  mingling  spirits,  a  rapturous  dream  seemed 
to  have  entranced  her.  But  then  the  sad  realities  of  a  prison 
gloom,  the  blasted  reputation,  the  dark  uncertainty  as  to  the 
fate  of  him  she  loved,  all  came  upon  her  mind  with  painful 
interest,  too  painful  for  her  peace. 

Was  there  no  friend  who  could  be  induced  to  lend  a 
helping  hand  to  free  young  Edwards  from  his  prison,  and 
aid  him  in  detecting  the  villainy  which,  if  not  found  out, 
must  rest  with  all  its  killing  influence  on  him,  and  now,  alas ! 
on  her  !  But  to  whom  could  she  apply  ?  Who  would  listen 
to  her  story  ?  Who  would  believe,  as  she  did,  in  the  bare 
assertion  of  one  against  whom  appearances  were  now  so  sus 
picious,  yea,  worse  than  suspicious.  She  might  be  ridiculed 
for  her  credulity,  but  there  was  little  hope  that  any  could  be 
found  who  would  be  willing  to  act  upon  such  a  peradventure. 
The  longer  she  pondered,  the  darker,  the  more  hopeless, 
grew  the  prospect.  In  the  agony  of  her  spirit,  she  exclaimed: 
••  Oli.  had  T  but  a  .father's  bosom,  now,  on  which  to  repose  ! 
to  whom  I  could 'go*for  help — a  father  !  And  have  I  not  a 
father  ?  My  unclo^bjes,  he  has  taken  a  father's  place—he 
has  never  denied  my.  childish  wishes  ;  I  will  open  my  heart 
to  him — I  will  tell  him  all." 

Tiie  morning  broke,  bright  and  pleasant,  and  Sarah 
would  hjtve  hailed  it  with  delight,  but  too  many  trembling 
appWKsions  were  alive  within ;  it  was  no  pleasant  task  be 
fore  her,  to  confide  the  most  sacred  secrets  even  to  her  fond 
uncle,  who  might  after  all  treat  her  request  as  a  wild  phan 
tasy.  Dubious  as  it  might  be,  however,  her  mind  was  fixed ; 


102  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

a  high  and  holy  purpose  inspired  her  with  an  energy,  which 
no  one  could  have  anticipated  who  saw  her  in  her  every  day 
walk ;  her  whole  appearance  was  affected  by  the  strong  pas 
sion  which  possessed  her  soul;  the  playful  smile,  that  was 
ever  ready  with  its  bewitching  power,  gave  place  to  a  settled 
sobriety,  and  her  sprightly,  dancing  step,  to  one  stately, 
graceful  and  measured,  more  in  keeping  with  the  current  of 
her  feelings. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


y 


MR.  AUGUSTUS  HUNT  never  refused  to  attend  the  summons 
of  his  niece,  and  at  an  early  hour  in  the  forenoon,  she  arose 
to  meet  her  affectionate  kinsman,  as  he  entered  her  own 
private  room,  in  his  plain  and  neat  dress  of  London  brown. 

"  Well,  Sally  dear."  preceded  a  warm  kiss,  a  good  shake 
of  the  hand,  and  a  gentle  pat  on  the  head ;  and  as  he  sat 
down,  she  took  his  broad-brimmed  beaver,  and  laid  it  with 
care  on  her  little  table,  and,  as  quietly  and  calmly  as  she 
could,  took  her  seat  in  the  corner.  The  old  gentleman  occu 
pied  his  usual  place  immediately  before  the  fire ;  he  sat  very 
erect,  with  one  hand  resting  on  each  knee. 

"  Well,  darling,  what's  the  news  this  morning  ? — no  more 
robberies,  I  hope  ;  uncle  Geordie  feels  pretty  sore,"  leaning 
over  towards  her,  and  smiling  archly^"  but. it's  no  great 
loss  for  him,  after  all." 

"I  suppose  uncle  feels  tried  at  losing  the  money,  but 
the  loss  of  the  money  is  not  the  worst  of  it — to  lo.se  it  in 
such  a  singular  manner." 

"  Ay,  ay,  to  be  sure,  that's  it,  that'jj>»f  you're  right — sin 
gular,  to  be  sure — strange  enough .awPmge  enough  ;  there's 
something  about  that  business,  Sally,  puzzles  me.  I  don't 
see  into  it,"  shaking  his  head. 

"  You  can  hardly  believe  after  all,  uncle,  that   .i 
did  it?" 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Sally,  the  longer  I  live,  the  harder  it  is 
to  find  out  things ;  there's  a  wheel  within  a  wheel  about  this 
business,  somewhere." 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  103 

"  But,  uucle,  if  James  is  really  not  guilty,  it  is  a  very 
serious  matter  for  him  to  be  confined  in  prison,  with  his 
character  blasted,  which  you  know  is  all  that  he  has  to  de 
pend  upon  ;  it  is  worse  than  death." 

':  True,  true,  child,  that's  true;  but  the  money,  you  know, 
or  some  of  it,  was  found  in  his  trunk,  and  one  of  uucle 
Greordie's  papers  in  his  coat  pocket,  and  Rudolph  tells  strange 
stories  about  his  gambling,  and  all  that ;  what  to  make  of  it 
all,  I  don't  know — its  queer,  queer." 

t:  Might  not  James  have  some  enemy  who  wishes  to  ruin 
him.  and  who  knows  if  his  character  could  be  blasted,  it 
would  be  the  most  effectual  way  to  destroy  him  ?" 

"  There  is  no  telling,  child,  what  might  be ;  there  are 
strange  things  done  now-a-days ;  I  sometimes  have  to  look 
twice,  before  I  can  believe  my  own  eyes." 

"  Well,  uncle,  I  don't  believe  that  James  is  guilty,  and  I 
have  good  reasons  for  my  opinion." 

Her  uncle  looked  at  her  with  his  keen  and  twinkling 
eye,  as  though  wishing  to  pry  into  her  secret  thoughts. 

"  And  I  believe,  uncle,  that  if  you  were  to  see  him,  you 
would  think  so  too." 

"  I  wish  it  may  prove  so,  my  dear  child ;  upon  my  honor, 
I  wish  it  may,  but  I  am  afraid  it  will  go  hard  with  him. 
'  Unless  he  can  clearly  make  it  out  that  some  one  else  did  it, 
there  is  no  help  for  him." 

"  Is  it  not  very  hard,  uncle,  if  he  be  innocent,  that  he 
should  remain  in  close  confinement,  with  no  friend  on  earth 
to  aid  him,  and  no  power  to  do  any  thing  himself?" 

Sarah's  voice  trembled  somewhat,  as  she  said  this. 

';  Remember,  uncle,  that  he  is  an  orphan." 

"  I  know  it.  my  child,  I  know  it ;  and  until  this  unlucky 
affair,  I  would  have  trusted  James  with  thousands." 

"  Well,  my  dear  uncle,  you  can  safely  trust  him  still ;  you 
must  confide  in  him  for  my  sake ; — she  drew  her  chair  close 
to  his — -.-If  you  knew,  my  dear  uncle,  what  I  have  suffered, 
and  what  James  has  suffered— if  you  could  only  realize  his 
destitute  condition — with  none  to  help  him — " 

Sarah's  feelings  were  not  equal  to  the  task  she  had  under 
taken,  and  the  old  gentleman  could  not  bear  to  see  her  in 
trouble. 


104  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

"  Well,  darling.  I  see  how  it  is — I  see  how  it  is  ;  but  what 
would  you  have  me  do  ?" 

"I  do  not  know  what  should  be  done,  uncle;  but  I  have 
been  very  unhappy  since  yesterday  morning,  and  you  know, 
my  dear  uncle,  that  I  look  to  you  as  a  father — you  have  been 
a  father  to  me  ;"  and  she  leaned  her  head  upon  his  shoulder. 
Mr.  Hunt  attempted  to  answer,  but  be  was  a  very  tender 
hearted  man,  so  he  took  the  hand  of  his  niece,  and  replied  by 
a  silent  pressure. 

"  I  can  only  tell  you  all  my  heart,  and  if  I  have  done 
wrong,  uncle,  you  must  forgive  me." 

She  then  frankly  told  him  how  deeply  she  was  interested 
in  James  Edwards,  how  she  had  visited  him,  and  how  sol 
emnly  he  had  assured  her  of  his  innocence. 

Mr.  Hunt  was  much  agitated  during  the  recital,  and  had 
more  than  once  to  wipe  away  the  big  drops  that  started  to  his 
eyes.  He  saw  plainly  enough,  that  his  niece  had  run  a  des 
perate  venture  ;  but  he  saw,  likewise,  that  her  whole  soul  was 
engaged  in  what  to  him  appeared  the  very  unlikely  prospect 
of  Edward's  being  able  to  prove  his  innocence. 

"  Well,  darling,  since  it  is  as  it  is,  what  would  you  have 
me  do?" 

"  Will  you  not,  uncle  ?" — and  she  looked  full  in  his  face 
— "  won't  you  become  securityrfor  James,  so  that  he  can  be 
released  from  that  hateful  prison  until  he  has  his  trial  ?  it  is 
only  for  a  few  weeks." 

"  Ay,  ay,"  shaking  his  head,  "  I  don't  know  about  that ; 
supposing  he  should  give  me  leg  bail,  I  should  be  obliged  to 
pay  every  cent  of  it ;  uncle  Geordie  wouldn't  let  me  off  a  sin 
gle  cent.  Ay,  ay,  I  don't  know  about  that." 

"  I  will  pledge  you  my  honor,  uncle,  my  sacred  honor, 
that  James  will  do  as  he  promises  ;  I  know  he  will." 

"  Sally,  Sally,  don't  you  be  too  sure  ;  don't  you  be  too 
confident ;  these  young  men — I  don't  know  about  it — they 
play  tricks  sometimes." 

He  saw  Sarah  appeared  hurt. 

';  However,  darling.  I  shall  do  as  you  say  ;  Edwards  shall 
be  free  this  very  day.  Will  that  do,  Sally  ?" 

Sarah  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck. 

"  My  uncle,  my  father,  my  friend,  forgive  me  all  the  trou 
ble  I  have  ever  caused  you — you  are  too  good  to  me ;  I  thank 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  105 

you,  and  James  will  thank  you  ;  you  will  be  blessed,  uncle  ; 
the  God  of  the  fatherless  will  bless  you." 

"  So,  so,  Sally — so,  so  ;  we'll  see  pretty  soon  what  can  be 
done.  James  shall  come  out  of  prison,  only  don't  tell  uncle 
Geordie.  Rot  his  old  chest,  I  hope  the  next  time  they'll  take 
that  along  with  them." 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A  GREAT  change  had  taken  place  in  the  mind  of  James  Ed 
wards  since  the  short  interview  with  Sarah  in  the  cell  of  his 
prison.  The  noble  daring  of  the  girl,  the  avowal  of  her  con 
fidence  in  him,  under  such  suspicious  and  degrading  circum 
stances,  the  interchange  of  affection,  all  acted  like  a  charm 
upon  his  spirit ;  those  feelings,  which  were  beginning  to 
harden  themselves  against  sympathy,  were  at  once  softened  ; 
a  new  stimulus  was  added  to  all  the  other  motives,  to  make 
exertions  for  his  own  rescue  from  his  fallen  condition. 

But  how  to  unravel  the  mystery,  in  what  way  to  shake 
off"  the  heavy  weight  which  must  finally  crush  him  unless  re 
moved,  and  to  maintain,  before  an  impartial  jury,  the  inno 
cence  which  he  had  made  oath  to  in  the  ear  of  that  confiding 
girl,  was  no  trifling  matter,  and  beyond  the  present  power  of 
his  mind  to  compass  ;  wearied  at  length  with  his  own  imagin 
ings,  he  lay  down  on  his  bed  of  straw  and  slept ;  yes,  in  that 
cold,  dark  cell  he  slept,  and  awoke  not  until  the  light  of  day 
was  streaming  in  its  fulness  through  his  grated  window. 

James  had  but  few  associates ;  being  naturally  of  a  re 
tiring  disposition,  and  confining  himself  closely  to  his  duties, 
he  felt  but  little  inclination  for  mingling  in  society.  He 
had.  however,  one  companion  with  whom  he  was  on  terms  of 
great  intimacy,  whose  mind  and  temper  were  congenial  to 
his  own.  Theodore  Berry,  for  that  was  the  name  of  his 
friend,  had  just  finished  his  preparation  for  the  practice  of 
law ;  he  had  promising  talent,  was  fond  of  the  profession  he 
had  chosen,  and  resolved  to  rise  in  it  without  the  aid  of 
those  grovelling  expedients  which  too  many  in  that  noble 
5* 


106  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

calling  substitute  for  patient  industry  and  faithful  attention 
to  business. 

Theodore  did  not  hear  of  the  disaster  which  had  befallen 
James  until  the  following  day.  It  was  in  the  morning,  and 
while  on  the  way  to  his  office ;  he  lost  no  time  in  going  to 
the  place  where  he  was  confined,  resolved  to  learn  the  whole 
truth. 

As  the  jailer  opened  the  dpor,  he  entered,  and  extending 
his  hand;  "Why,  James,  what  does  this  mean?"  James 
returned  his  embrace. 

"  Theodore,  I  am  glad  to  see  you ;  I  have  just  been  think 
ing  how  I  should  get  a  message  to  you." 

"  I  have  heard  nothing  of  this,  until  a  few  moments  since. 
I  was  on  the  way  to  my  office,  and  met  Rudolph  ;  on  inquiring 
of  him  how  you  were  ;  '  Have  you  not  heard  about  him  since 
yesterday?''  '  No,'  I  said  ;  'what's  the  matter?'  and  then  he 
related  the  circumstances  ;  but  tell  me,  James,  is  it  so  ?" 

"  It  is  pretty  much  as  Rudolph  has  told  you,  but — " 

Theodore  looked  at  James  with  deep  concern ;  he  saw 
that  his  eye  met  his  own  with  the  same  clear,  bright,  honest 
expression  it  ever  had. 

"  Tell  me,  Edwards,  there  is  some  mistake  ;  you  are — 
you  are — you  have  not  done  this,  James,  have  you?" 

"  No,  Theodore,  I  have  not." 

"  Thank  God  for  that ;  but  sit  down,  and  tell  me  all 
about  it." 

"  I  can  tell  you  no  more  than  you  already  know ;  but  I 
think  Rudolph  has  given  you  rather  the  worst  features  of 
the  case." 

James  then  told  his  friend  exactly  what  had  happened. 

"  But  what  is  the  story  about  your  gambling  1  surely  Ru 
dolph  must  be  mistaken." 

"  Gambling  !• — does  he  charge  me  with  gambling  ?" 

"  Why,  he  says  that  is  the  common  report ;  that  you 
were  seen  entering  a  gambling  house  the  other  evening — the 
worst  in  the  city." 

James  appeared  much  astonished. 

"  Is  it  possible  that  so  much  has  been  made  out  of  a  mere 
accident  ?" 

"  Tell  me,  James" — and  Theodore  took  his  hand  and 
pressed  it,  "  tell  me,  it  is  not  so ;  you  have  not  gambled." 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  107 

"  No,  never  ;  the  circumstance  might  have  been  forgotten 
by  me,  if  you  had  not  mentioned  that  I  was  seen  going  into 
a  certain  house.  I  did  go  into  one,  but  it  was  by  mistake  ;" 
and  he  explained  to  Theodore  how  it  happened. 

"  Glad,  glad  am  I,  James,  that  none  of  this  is  true.  But 
how  has  all  this  taken  place  ?  there  is  something  more  than 
accident  in  it ;  there  has  been  some  design,  some  deep  de 
sign  to  ruin  you,  and  whoever  has  done  it,  has  taken  a  course 
that  will  make  it  very  difficult  for  you  to  clear  yourself;  the 
whole  of  this  unfortunate  business  rests  upon  you  as  the 
guilty  person." 

"  I  know  it." 

"  Is  there  no  one  whom  you  suspect  ?  is  Rudolph  friendly 
to  you  1 

James  shook  his  head.  "  Rudolph  has  been  very  kind 
to  me  ;  I  have  no  reason — I  ought  not  to  think  of  him  in  a 
suspicious  manner." 

"  Edwards,  I  must  be  frank  ;  you  have  no  friend  in  Ru 
dolph  Hunt.  The  manner  in  which  he  spoke  of  you,  this 
morning,  convinces  me  of  this  ;  depend  upon  what  I  say, 
he's  a—" 

"  Stop,  stop,  Theodore." 

But  Theodore  would  not  stop,  until  he  had  obtained 
from  James  every  particular  respecting  his  intimacy  with 
Rudolph,  which  might  throw  light  upon  the  nature  of  his 
feelings  towards  him  ;  all  of  which  he  minutely  recorded. 

"  And  now,  James,  what  is  your  plan  ?  It  will  not  do  for 
you  to  be  cooped  up  here ;  you  must  be  at  liberty,  and  en 
deavor  to  ferret  out  this  matter,  and  you  have  but  a  short 
time  to  prepare." 

Just  then,  they  were  interrupted  by  a  bustling  in  the 
passage,  and  Edwards  thought  he  heard  the  voice  of  Mr. 
Augustus  Hunt.  The  door  was  opened. 

"  Bless  my  soul !  what  a  place  !  what  a  place  !  it  aint  fit 
for  a  dog  to  be  in.  Why,  James,  James,  bless  me  !  this  is 
a  bad  business  ;  sorry,  sorry."  The  old  gentleman  stepped 
up  kindly  and  offered  his  hand,  and  then  casting  his  eye 
around  the  room,  over  the  walls,  and  at  the  grated  window, 
"  Terrible,  terrible  !  How  did  the  hussy  dare  to  come  to 
such  a  place  ?  But  she's  just  like  her  mother." 

James  blushed  deeply,  and  Theodore  observed  it,  but  as 


108  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

nothing  had  been  said  to  him  of  the  intimacy  between  James 
and  Sarah,  it  was  all  a  mystery  to  him. 

"  Well,  well,  master  James,  I'm  sorry,  sorry ;  things  are 
in  a  bad  shape  here,  bad  enough — this  won't  do — and  you 
an  innocent  man  too — hey  ?"  And  he  looked  with  his  keen, 
bright,  twinkling  eye  fixedly  at  James. 

James  felt  the  intensity  of  his  gaze,  but  he  shrank  not 
from  it ;  he  knew  that  an  answer  was  required  from  him,  but 
he  could  not  speak. 

"  I  believe,  sir,  that  Mr.  Edwards '  is  innocent,"  said 
Theodore, ';  but  it  will  do  him  little  good  to  have  the  mere 
opinion  of  his  friends  as  to  his  innocence ;  he  must  have 
positive  proof  that  some  one  else  put  that  money  into  his 
trunk." 

"  Just  so,  just  so ;  that's  the -rub,  as  I  understand  it." 

"  The  best  thing  his  friends  can  do  for  him,  is  to  get  him 
out  of  confinement,  and  unite  with  him  in  endeavoring  to 
search  out  the  villain." 

"  That's  just  my  mind,  and  to  tell  you  the  truth,  master 
James,  that's  what  I've,  come  for  this  morning — so  let's  set 
about  it." 

"  Mr.  Hunt,  I  am  well  aware  that  appearances  are  against 
me ;  I  have  no  friends  to  whom  I  could  apply,  under  the 
circumstances,  as  surety  for  my  appearance,  and — " 

'•  How  do  you  know,  master  James  ?  how  do  you  know, 
but  I  would — I  would— do  it  myself;  I  guess  they  will  take 
Augustus  Hunt's  bond  for  £6.000." 

James  could  not  reply ;  it  was  unexpected ;  the  tear 
gathered  in  his  eye,  and  his  whole  expression  told  the  deep 
feelings  of  his  heart.  Mr.  Hunt  had  his  own  feelings  too  ; 
the  scene  through  which  he  had  just  passed  with  his  niece,  had 
left  a  strong  impression  on  his  kind  heart,  and  now  called  to 
witness  the  degradation  of  one,  whom  he  had  seen  daily 
attending  faithfully  to  his  duties  in  his  own  counting-room, 
and  under  his  own  direction,  whose  whole  deportment  had 
ever  won  his  admiration  and  esteem,  he  could  wait  no  longer, 
so  with  a  quick  step,  he  left  the  room,  telling  James  that  he 
would  be  back  presently. 

Hardly  had  James  time  to  recover  from  the  surprise, 
which  Mr.  Hunt's  kindness  had  caused,  when  the  door  was 
again  opened,  and  the  jailer,  bowing  complacently,  told  Mr. 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  109 

Edwards  that  he  was  no  longer  his  prisoner;  requesting  him, 
at  the  same  time,  to  step  down  into  the  room  below.  He 
was  overcome.  Theodore  grasped  his  hand. 

"  Come,  James,  put  on  courage  ;  keep  up  a  good  heart ; 
you  have  friends  yet."  And  taking  his  arm,  he  led  him, 
almost  unconscious,  to  the  room  where  Mr.  Hunt  was  wait 
ing  for  him. 

The  old  gentleman  arose  as  he  entered,  and  shook  hands 
with  him  again. 

"  Ah,  give  me  light  and  air — none  of  your  pent-up  places 
for  me  ;  bless  me  !  I  felt  as  if  I  could  not  breathe." 

"  Mr.  Hunt,  your  kindness  is  more  than  I  could  have 
hoped  for."  Theodore  just  then  left  the  room,  saying  that 
he  would  return  in  a  few  moments.  No  sooner  were  they 
alone,  than  Mr.  Hunt  assumed  the  serious  air  which  he 
always  had  when  business  of  importance  was  on  hand. 

"James,  you  are  now  free,  until  your  case  shall  have 
been  fairly  tried ;  are  you  aware  of  what  I  have  done  to 
accomplish  it  ?" 

"  I  am,  sir,  and — " 

"  Well,  you  are  aware  then,  that  this  is  done  in  reliance 
on  your  honor,  for  I  must  tell  you,  James,  I  -have  yet  confi 
dence  in  your  integrity." 

The  spirit  of  the  young  man,  almost  broken  by  his  trial, 
felt,  sweetly  felt,  the  warm  and  cheering  words  of  this  aged 
friend. 

"  Nor  am  I  the  only  one,  who  believes  you  innocent  ; 
nor  am  I  the  only  one  who  will  suffer  if  you  should  prove 
untrue.  You  understand  me." 

James  answered  not ;  his  heart  was  full  to  overflowing, 
and  his  face  was  covered  to  hide  emotions  he  could  not 
suppress. 

"  There  is  one,  young  man,  as  dear,  yes,  dearer  to  me 
than  life  itself ;  you  know  well  whom  I  mean  ;  her  reason, 
her  earthly  hopes,  her  life  itself,  hang  on  the  truth  or  false 
hood  of  your  character."  And  his  voice  trembled,  as  he 
spoke  it  in  a  low,  but  most  emphatic  tone. 

James  raised  his  head,  his  countenance  beaming  forth 
the  strong  feelings  at  work  within  his  breast. 

"  Mr.  Hunt,  I  know  well  what  you  mean,  and  to  whom 
you  allude  ;  I  am  well  aware  that  the  prospect  before  me  is 


110  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

dark ;  I  know,  that  to  prove  my  innocence,  may  be  beyond 
my  power ;  but.  sir,  there  is  a  God  above,  the  Being  whose 
blessing  I  invoke,  whose  wrath,  above  all  things  else.  I  fear ; 
sure  as  he  lives,  and  so  long  as  my  reason  shall  regulate  my 
actions,  will  I  prove  true  to  her — will  I  be  true  to  you." 

"  It  is  a  solemn  oath,  which  you  have  taken,  James  :  may 
you  be  able  to  keep  it.  There  is  one  thing  more  I  wish  to 
say ;  it  will  not  do  for  me  to  be  known  as  actively  aiding 
you ;  nor  must  it  be  known  that  I  have  been  here ;  I  have 
procured  a  friend,  who  has  given  his  name,  instead  of  mine. 
My  brother  believes  in  your  guilt,  and,  to  be  frank  with  you, 
I  fear  that  Kudolph  helps  him  to  believe  so.  Here  is  a 
trifle,  James ;  more  shall  be  ready  at  your  need ;  employ 
the  best  counsel,  and  may  God  help  you  out,  for  if  you  are 
not  cleared,  Sarah's  heart  will  be  broken,  and — " 

The  old  man  could  say  no  more  ;  he  took  the  hand  of  the 
young  man  and  pressing  it  in  silence,  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

How  strong  the  contrast  which  is  often  presented  between 
the  moral  and  the  natural  world.  The  skies  cloudless  and 
bright,  and  the  earth  smiling  in  sunshine  and  loveliness,  while 
the  heart  is  sick,  and  the  soul  looks  forth  with  beamless  eye 
upon  the  fair  creation. 

It  was  a  fine,  brisk  morning ;  the  sun  had  not  yet  risen ; 
all  the  bright  rays  which  shot  up  from  behind  the  eastern 
hills,  betokened  the  coming  of  the  strong  man  to  run  his 
race.  It  was  just  such  a  morning  as  wakes  up  within  the 
heart  its  warmest  energies ;  every  nerve  is  quickened  by  the 
frosty  air,  and  the  toils,  the  trials,  and  the  dangers  of  the 
coming  day,  are  looked  forward  to,  not  only  with  calm  cour 
age,  but  almost  with  a  longing  for  the  stern  encounter. 

At  the  door  of  the  Parsonage,  a  respectable  looking  ba~- 
rouche  had  just  driven  up,  and  a  small  man.  well  wrapped  in 
a  stout  overcoat,  was  standing  by  the  steps  which  he  bad 
thrown  down,  and  holding  by  one  hand  the  open  door.  His 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  Ill 

face  was  turned  towards  the  group  that  was  approaching  by 
the  little  path  which  led  to  the  front  gate.  As  the  gate 
opened,  he  lifted  his  hat  high  up  from  his  head,  bowed  very 
low  once  or  twice,  and  in  a  voice  that  was  scarcely  audible, 
thus  accosted  the  company  : 

"  Your  servant,  ladies ;  Mr.  Wharton,  good  morning." 

The  voices  which  responded  were  in  broken  tones,  and 
the  countenances  of  the  ladies  pMnly  told  that  they  had 
been  yielding  to  the  power  of  sorrow. 

Mr.  Wharton  replied  in  his  usual  placid  manner — "A 
fine  morning,  Mr.  Tightbody  ;  you  are  very  punctual,  sir." 

Mr.  Tightbody  bowed  low  to  this  remark  of  the  reverend 
gentleman,  but  made  no  other  reply.  As  the  ladies,  followed 
by  Mr.  Wharton,  entered  the  carriage,  the  steps  were  folded 
up,  and  the  door  closed  in  the  most  careful  manner.  There 
was  no  prancing  of  the  horses,  nor  cracking  of  the  whip  ;  but 
off  they  moved  steadily,  as  though  fully  aware  of  the  feelings 
of  their  master. 

"How  long  a  drive  do  you  intend  this  morning?  Shall 
we  reach  the  Point  in  time  for  the  afternoon  boat,  Mr.  Tight- 
body  ?" 

';  The  morning  boat,  Mr.  Wharton — the  morning  boat,  sir." 
This  was  said  in  a  low  voice.  "  They  can  take  us  there,  sir,  in 
three  hours,"  pointing  to  his  horses ;  "  but  I  suppose  it  would 
not  be  altogether  the  thing  to-day,  sir." 

Mr.  Wharton  did  not  reply.  He  could  not,  just  then, 
comprehend  the  reasoning  of  his  good  neighbor,  or  perhaps  the 
latter  part  of  the  remark  was  unheard,  so  low  were  the  tones 
in  which  it  was  delivered.  The  road  wound  through  a  country 
beautifully  variegated  with  woods,  and  open  meadows,  and 
snug  farm-houses  nestling  in  quiet  beneath  their  guardian 
monarchs  of  the  forest,  and  little  brooks  that  sparkled  cheer 
ily  by  the  wayside,  and  through  the  distant  field.  On  every 
spot  the  eye  could  reach,  some  new  striking  beauty  was  un 
folded:- some  charm  that  stole  with  silent  power  to  the  heart, 
Hmftng  man  to  come  and  rest  his  tired  spirit,  away  from  the 
turmoil  and  detracting  struggle  of  the  busy  throng.  But  to 
the  mourners  in  that  carriage  k  was  but  a  waste.  No  lovely 
scene  in  nature  could  divert  their  minds  from  the  terrible 
realities  which  then  engrossed  them. 

To  Mr.  Wharton,  especially,  did  these  realities  come  home 


112  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

with  sickening  interest,  for  his  larger  experience  of  life  ena 
bled  him  to  anticipate  with  more  distinctness  the  sad  items 
in  the  troublous  scene  to  which  they  were  hastening.  To  be 
an  eye-witness  of  the  degradation  of  that  youth,  dear  to  him 
by  associations  of  the  most  tender  kind ;  to  lead  this  mother 
and  sister  into  the  dark  prison-house,  and  hear  their  cry  of 
agony  as  they  mingled  their  lamentations  with  the  fallen  one  ; 
to  hear,  perhaps,  a  tale  of  misdoings  that  began  at  first  in  a 
slight  deviation  from  the  path  of  rectitude,  increasing  in  ob 
liquity  until  the  step  was  taken  that  can  never  be  retraced, 
and  the  dark  blot  made  that  can  never  be  washed  out.  either 
by  penitence  or  tears  ;  to  behold  a  youth  of  fair  promise  and 
high  hopes,  dashed  by  his  own  mad  act,  a  hopeless  victim, 
upon  those  dark  shores  where  the  outcast  must  for  ever  wan 
der  unpitied  and  unblest ;  his  heart  recoiled  from  the  sad 
prospect,  and  deeply  sympathized  with  those  helpless  ones 
beside  him  who  could  only  mourn,  hopelessly  mourn,  over  the 
ruin  of  their  earthly  stay. 

As  Mr.  Tightbody  had  said,  they  were  in  time  for  the 
morning  boat,  and  had  an  hour  at  least  to  spare,  for  as  they 
drove  up  to  the  tavern  at  the  landing,  the  white  sail  of  the 
small  vessel,  which  in  those  primitive  days  answered  the  turn 
of  the  public,  was  seen  at  some  distance  rounding  the  point 
which  formed  one  of  the  boundaries  of  the  little  bay  which 
spread  before  them,  and  across  which  she  must  make  her 
way  against  a  head  wind. 

"  We  shall  have  a  full  hour  to  spare,  Mr.  Tightbody :  I 
shall  order  dinner  for  the  ladies,  and  you  will  not  need  to  be 
in  haste  to  return ;  stay  and  dine  with  us." 

A  very  low  bow  and  suitable  acknowledgments  followed 
this  address  of  Mr.  Wharton. 

The  meal'was  soon  in  readiness,  and  the  little  party  sat 
down  and  ate  in  silence. 

There  was  soon  a  bustle  in  the  adjoining  bar-room,  and 
Mr.  Timothy  came  at  once  to  a  halt,  and  started  from  the 
table. 

"  Don't  rise,  ladies ;  be  seated,  Mr.  Wharton.  I  will  see 
that  every  thing  is  on  board." 

Scarce  had  the  little  man  closed  the  door  which  opened 
immediately  into  the  bar-room,  when  he  sprang  back,  and 
looking  and  beckoning  very  earnestly, 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  113 

"  Mr.  Wharton,  Mr.  Wharton,  quick,  sir,  if  you  please." 

The  little  circle  was  somewhat  alarmed,  for  the  counte 
nance  of  Mr.  Tightbody  was  very  animated,  and  his  words 
came  out  full  and  naturally.  No  sooner  was  Mr.  Wharton 
in  the  bar-room,  than  his  hand  was  violently  grasped. 

"  Mr.  Wharton  !  how  is  my  mother  ?" 

"  James  !  James  !  is  it  possible  ?  is  this  you  ?  The  Lord 
be  praised !" 

He  immediately  led  him  one  side. 

"  It  is  not  true,  then  ? 

"  Mr.  Wharton,  has  my  mother  heard  any  thing  about 
me  ?" 

"  She  has,  James ;  but  it  is  not  true  ?" 

"  Is  my  mother  here,  sir  ?" 

"She  is." 

Mr.  Wharton  at  once  led  him  into  the  room. 

"  My  dear  son  !" 

"  My  dear  mother  !" 

And  they  were  locked  in  each  other's  arms. 

"  James  !  my  brother  !  my  dear  brother  !"  And  Mary 
threw  her  arms  around  his  neck. 

Oh,  James  !  how  is  it '?  what  is  it  ?  it  is  not  true  1 — but 
you  look  as  if  you  had  been  in  trouble.  Oh,  my  son  !  tell 
me,  James,  you  are  innocent,  are  you  not  ?" 

"  Yes,  mother,  I  am  innocent,  but  I  may  not  be  able  to 
prove  it." 

"I  knew  it,  mother,  I  knew  it;  I  told  you  that  James 
was  innocent — my  own  dear  brother."  And  she  kissed  him 
again  and  again. 

"  But  tell  us,  James,  how  has  this  come  to  pass  ?  is  the 
account  which  we  have  received  in  the  paper,  correct?  have 
you  been  imprisoned  ?" 

And  his  mother  and  sister  looked  at  him  as  though  their 
life  depended  on  his  answer. 

'•  It  is  true,  sir;  I  have  been  imprisoned." 

"  Oh,  brother  !  brother  !"  And  Mary  hid  her  face  and 
wept  bitterly. 

"  But  yet  you  say  you  were  innocent,  my  son  ?" 

"  Yes,  mother,  as  innocent  as  that  lovely  child.  Don't 
weep,  dear  sister.  It  is  the  hand  of  God  It  is  for  good  in 
some  way.  Do  not  weep  so,  Mary." 


114  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

"  Oh,  my  brother  !  my  brother  !  if  I  could  only  have 
been  with  you.  To  think  of  you  alone,  and  in  prison,  and 
not  a  friend  near  you!" 

'•  God  has  raised  up  friends  for  me,  dear  sister — warm 
and  true." 

"  I  knew  it ;  I  have  felt  it ;  I  have  believed  that  He  would 
not  suffer  the  child  of  my  prayers  to  leave  the  path  of  right 
eousness,  and  bring  me  with  sorrow  to  the  grave." 

Mr.  Tightbody  now  ventured  to  open  the  door  sufficiently 
to  show  his  face,  lighted  up  with  a  new  and  bright  expression. 

"  Come  in,  Mr.  Tightbody,  come  in,  sir ;  things  are  bet 
ter  than  we  feared." 

"  God  be  praised,  sir,  for  that ;  but  I  came  in  to  in 
quire  ;"  and  he  bowed  very  low,-?as  he  said  this,  "  Does  the 
Reverend  and  the  ladies  still  design  to  go  by  the  boat?  the 
things  are  all  aboard." 

All  looked  to  James  For  an  answer. 

"  I  am  on  my  way  to  our  home,  mother,  and  design  to 
spend  a  day  or  so  with  you." 

'•  Then  we  will  all  return,  sir." 

It  was  some  little  distance  to  the  boat,  and  Mr.  Tight- 
body  started  with  an  agility  that  would  have  done  credit  to 
a  boy  of  sixteen ;  but  sometimes  our  haste  does  mischief ; 
the  landlord  was  not  only  a  very  fleshy  little  man,  he  was 
also  sorely  afflicted  with  the  gout.  Just  as  Mr.  Timothy 
way  flying  out  of  the  bar-room  door,  the  old  man  was  turn 
ing  from  his  piazza  to  enter.  There  was  a  loud  wail,  and 
both  bodies  were  laying  at  the  foot  of  the  steps  together.  The 
dogs  barked,  the  women  ran  out  of  the  kitchen  and  screamed 
at  the  top  of  their  voices,  and  the  old  man  swore  horrible 
oaths,  intermingled  with  cries  of  agony ;  at  the  same  time 
holding  Mr.  Timothy  in  his  grasp,  and  endeavoring  to  wreak 
upon  him  the  vengeance  that  was  boiling  in  his  heart. 

"  I'm  a  dead  man ;  he's  murdered  me ;  hold  him  fast ; 
send  for  Squire  Pearce ;  I'll  have  him  in  jail,  that  I  will." 

But  Mr.  Timothy,  of  the  two,  had  the  greater  cause  for 
complaint ;  he  certainly  was  much  the  worse  for  the  encoun 
ter.  The  old  man  in  his  spite  had  clawed  without  mercy, 
tearing  ruffles,  pulling  off  buttons,  and  even  leaving  marks 
on  Mr.  Timothy's  round,  plump  visage,  that  were  calculated 
to  make  him  far  too  conspicuous  under  the  present  circum- 


^*  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  115 

stances.  But  as  Pomp  could  not  be  blamed  for  the  present 
mishap.  Mr.  Timothy  was  obliged  to  smother  his  feelings, 
and  bear  his  trial  as  he  best  could. 

How  very  different  did  the  beauties  of  nature  appear  to 
the  little  company,  as  they  travelled  back  through  the  same 
scenes  they  had  passed  in  the  morning ;  their  hearts  could 
now  appreciate  them  ;  the  dark  mist  that  had  lain  so  heavily 
upon  their  warm  affections,  had  passed  away.  James  was 
by  their  side,  not,  indeed,  secure  from  calamity,  but  restored 
to  their  confidence ;  his  word  was  truth  to  them,  and  come 
what  might,  they  could  still  look  upon  him  as  pure  and 
faithful. 

The  sun  was  about  to  set  as  they  reached  the  door  of  the 
Parsonage.  Julia  was  the  first  to  greet  them ;  she  saw  her 
brother. 

"  Oh.  there  is  James  !"  She  flew  to  his  arms ;  she  asked 
not  whether  he  was  innocent  or  guilty  ;  he  was  there,  and 
that  was  enough. 

"  Oh,  James,  James,  brother,  brother  !"  She  clung  to  his 
neck,  and  kissed  him  again  and  again. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  uncertainty  which  hung  over  the  fate  of  young  Ed 
wards,  was  not  in  the  least  diminished  by  any  circumstances 
that  had  transpired  since  the  morning  of  his  arrest ;  but 
even  the  probabilities  that  he  would  be  able  to  clear  himself, 
grew  less  and  less  as  the  period  of  his  trial  approached.  His 
friends,  those  who  thought  they  knew  him,  had  no  doubt  of 
the  truth  of  his  professions,  but  their  good  opinion  could 
avail  him  nothing  in  a  court  of  justice,  where  evidence,  and 
that  alone,  must  guide  the  decision. 

Theodore  was  untiring  in  his  efforts  to  prepare  for  the 
hour  of  trial.  He  saw  the  difficulties  in  the  case,  but  the 
struog  friendship  he  bore  to  Edwards,  and  his  desire  to  distin 
guish  himself  in  this,  his  first  effort  at  the  bar,  stimulated 
him  to  the  utmost.  He  had  taken  the  responsibility,  with- 


116  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

out  hope  of  fee  or  reward,  but  he  was  not  without  aid ; 
through  the  liberality  of  Mr.  Augustus  Hunt,  he  was  en 
abled  to  command  the  services  of  an  eminent  lawyer.  It 
required,  however,  assistance  of  a  different  kind  to  ferret  out 
the  mystery  of  iniquity,  and  he  was  determined  to  seek  it. 
At  the  close  of  a  very  busy  day,  he  left  his  office,  and  sought 
the  upper  part  of  the  city ;  his  mind  deeply  agitated,  he 
passed  along  the  crowded  thoroughfare  without  heeding  the 
multitudes  who  were  urging  their  way  homeward;  not  far 
above  the  New- York  hospital,  he  left  the  throng,  turned 
down  a  quiet  street,  and  soon  came  to  a  plain,  two-story 
dwelling. 

He  was  introduced  into  a  small  back  room. 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Catchem ;  I  am  fortunate  in  finding 
you  at  home." 

The  officer  arose  from  his  seat  before  the  fire,  gave  one 
sharp  glance  at  his  visitor,  and  without  saying  a  word,  placed 
a  chair  for  him  near  the  corner,  at  the  same  time  removing 
his  own  in  an  opposite  direction. 

"  Sit  down,  sit  down,  sir  ;  a  raw  evening." 

"  llather  a  chilly  air ;  but  I  have  walked  fast,  for  I  was 
very  anxious  to  see  you,  and  was  not  certain  how  far  over 
the  city  I  might  be  obliged  to  travel  before  I  found  you." 

"  They  keep  me  jogging ;  I  was  just  about  to  take  a 
stretch  over  east  of  the  Bowery ;  the  boys  think  they  have 
got  track  of  the  fellows  that  set  fire  to  the  buildings  in 
Front-street  last  night." 

"  Were  those  buildings  set  on  fire?" 

«  No  doubt." 

"  I  wish  to  say  a  few  words  to  you,  sir,  about  young  Ed 
wards,  who  was  arrested  a  short  time  since,  you  remember, 
at  Mr.  Hunt's." 

"  Ay,  ay,  I  remember  him." 

"  We  have  every  reason  to  think  that  Mr.  Edwards  is  an 
innocent  person,  and  that  some  one  has  laid  a  plan  to  ruin 
him  ;  we  have  no  doubt  of  it." 

"  Nor  I,  neither." 

"  Then  you  do  not  believe  that  he  is  guilty?" 

"  Believe  !  yes.  I  believe  he's  guilty  enough  for  all  that." 

"  I  understood  you  to  say  that  you  had  no  doubt  of  there 
being  a  design  to  ruin  him." 


TO    LOVE    AND   TO    BE    LOVED.  1 1 7 

"  So  I  did ;  there  never  was  a  rogue  yet,  but  the  old  one 
first  helped  him  to  mischief,  and  then  helped  him  into  trou 
ble  on  account  of  it ;  there's  no  one  else,  I  guess,  has  any 
hand  in  it  besides  the  young  man  himself." 

"  But  we  have  good  reason  to  believe  him  innocent." 

"  I  think  there's  more  reason  to  believe  him  guilty ;  now 

you  see,  Mr. ,  I  can't  call  your  name,  though  I've  seen 

you  before." 

"  Berry." 

"  Ay,  yes,  Berry ;  I  suppose  now,  this  young  chap  has 
come  over  you  with  his  oaths  and  his  nonsense  about  his  be 
ing  innocent,  and  knowing  nothing  about  it,  and  all  that ; 
why,  I've  had  'em,  mister,  swear  till  you'd  think  heaven  and 
earth  was  coming  together,  that  they  knew  nothing  about 
things,  that  they  hadn't  seen  'em,  and  were  as  innocent  as 
unborn  babies,  and  all  that,  when  at  the  same  time  I  had  full 
evidence  to  the  contrary." 

"  But  you  must  allow  something  for  a  man's  previous 
character." 

'•  I  never  ask  much  about  a  man's  previous  character ; 
sometimes  it's  good,  and  sometimes  it  aint ;  you  can't  tell 
about  a  man,  until  he's  found  out." 

'•  You  would  have  no  objections,  however,  sir,  to  lend 
your  aid  in  endeavoring  to  clear  up  this  business." 

"  I  think  it's  all  clear  enough  already." 

"  You  shall  be  paid  liberally  for  your  services  ;  we  are 
convinced  that  a  deep  plot  has  been  laid  to  ruin  Edwards, 
and  we  wish  to  enlist  your  efforts  in  unravelling  it." 

"  Does  he  suspect  any  one  ?" 

"  Yes — no,  I  ought  not  to  say  that  he  does ;  but  I  do." 

"Who?" 

"  Perhaps  names  had  better  not  be  mentioned." 

"What  can  I  do  then?  I  must  have  some  clue  to  the 
thing ;  I  must  know  the  whole  about  it." 

Theodore  sat  in  silence  for  some  moments  ;  at  length, 
drawing  his  chair  near  to  the  officer,  in  a  low  tone,  he  ex 
plained  the  reason  for  his  suspicions,  and  on  whom  they 
rested.  The  officer  heard  him  trough  without  interruption, 
and  then  shaking  his  bushy  head, 

'•  There's  mighty  little  chance,  my  friend ;  if  it  should 
be  as  you  say,  the  thing  is  so  fixed,  as  I  view  it,  that  it 


118  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

would  take  an  incarnate  Satan  to  find  it  out ;  but  I'll  think 
it  over,  and  may  be  I  should  like  to  see  things  again  in  the 
house." 

A  time  was  fixed  when  Theodore  was  to  accompany  the 
officer  to  Mr.  Hunt's. 

Sarah  had  a  trying  and  difficult  part  to  act ;  she  was  the 
only  member  of  the  family,  besides  Betty,  who  believed  in 
the  innocence  of  Edwards.  Mr.  Geordie  Hunt  and  his  good 
wife  were  sorely  grieved  for  the  loss  which  had  been  sustained, 
and  would  gladly  have  employed  any  inquisitorial  means  to 
extort  from  him,  whom  they  believed  had  possession  of  their 
property,  the  large  balance  which  was  yet  missing.  The 
bailing  out.  therefore,  was  a  severe  annoyance  to  them. 

Rudolph  was  again  a  frequent  visitor,  and  his  uncle  man 
ifested  a  pleasure  in  his  society,  and  a  confidence  in  his 
statements,  which  he  never  had  before.  To  Sarah,  he  was 
attentive  as  he  had  ever  been,  and  carefully  avoided  every 
topic  which  he  found  unpleasant.  As  she  no  longer  looked 
upon  him  as  a  suitor,  and  as  it  was  so  evident  to  her,  that 
the  visits  of  Rudolph  were  agreable  to  her  relations,  she  felt 
that  decency,  at  least,  demanded  that  she  should  treat  him 
affably.  Rudolph  had  peculiar  views  of  female  character, 
and  those  not  of  the  most  exalted  kind.  He  believed  that 
external  advantages  were  all-sufficient  to  win  the  best  among 
them.  Sarah  had,  indeed,  manifested  a  decided  preference 
for  young  Edwards,  but  even  here  he  believed  that  the  pre 
ference  was  made  solely  for  the  superior  personal  appear 
ance  and  address  which  James  possessed ;  these  of  course 
would  be  nothing  now ;  the  stain  upon  his  character  would 
for  ever  cut  off  all  fear  of  one,  who  had  been  a  dangerous 
rival. 

Of  his  own  advantages,  he  was  sufficiently  conscious. 
On  his  side  were  their  mutual  friends,  the  protectors  of  Sarah, 
and  added  to  these,  he  founded  a  strong  hope  on  the  change 
in  her  own  personal  bearing  towards  him ;  he  began  to  be 
lieve  that  the  prize  he  had  so  long  struggled  for  was  within 
his  reach ;  he  meant  to  secure  it  while  he  could. 

Sarah  had  been  deeply,  engaged  that  afternoon  in  an 
interview  with  her  kind  uncle,  Mr.  Augustus  Hunt ;  it  had 
been  a  scene  of  much  trial  to  her ;  many  unpleasant  rumors 
had  reached  the  ears  of  her  kinsman,  and  he  felt  in  duty 


TO    LOVE    AND    TO    BE    LOADED.  119 

bound  to  let  his  niece  know  every  thing  pertaining  to  the 
character  of  one  in  whom  she  was  so  deeply  interested :  in 
fact,  he  wished  to  prepare  her  mind  for  a  catastrophe,  which 
he  much  feared  was  inevitable — the  conviction  of  Edwards 
with  strong  evidence  against  him. 

Scarcely  had  she  dried  the  tears  to  which  she  had  given 
full  vent  after  the  affectionate  parting  kiss  and  '•  God  bless 
you.  darling,"  of  her  uncle,  when  Betty  came  into  her  room, 
with  a  countenance  highly  flushed,  and  under  great  excite 
ment. 

"  What  is  it,  Betty  ?» 

"  The  Lord  only  knows,  my  young  leddy,  but  I  fear  there 
is  trouble  in  the  wind  for  you." 

"  Tell  me,  Betty  ;  any  thing  about  James  ?" 

':  Well,  indeed,  my  dear  leddy,  I  fear  he  has  something 
to  do  foment  it." 

"Sit  down.  Betty,  and  compose  yourself;  you  seem  to 
have  been  much  disturbed — sit  down." 

"  I  can't  sit,  Miss  Sarah,  for  she  has  put  me  into  such  a 
rumble,  that  I'm  all  in  a  quake." 

"  She  ?_who  ?-^is  it  my  aunt  ?" 

"  Oh,  no.  bless  your  young  heart !  I  don't  mind  the  like 
o'  her — she  aye  grumbles  awhile,  and  then  it's  all  over ;  but 
what  do  you  think,  my  darling ;  just  as  I  had  claned  up  the 
dinner  things,  and  was  going  out  with  a  pail  of  rubbish  for 
that  ould  scape-gallows,  the  bell-man,  I  had  emptied  my  pail, 
and  was  casting  my  eyes  around  to  see  what  might  be  going 
on  in  the  street,  when  I  see'd  a  young  woman,  nately  and 
dacently  dressed,  stopping  just  at  our  door,  and  looking  as 
though  she  might  be  wanting  to  enter.  '  May  I  know  your 
will,  madam.'  says  I.'  '  Can  you  tell  me,'  says  she,  '  does 
Mr.  Edwards  live  here  ?'  '  Faith,'  said  I,  '  and  I  can't  say 
but  he  does — or  he  did,  not  long  ago.'  '  Has  he  removed 
from  here,  then  ?'  '  Not  exactly  moved,'  said  I,  '  but  he's 
not  here  at  present.'  'When  do  you  expect  him  again?'  said 
she.  '  That's  hard  to  say,  madam,'  said  I.  The  more  I 
looked  at  her,  my  leddy,  the  more  my  thoughts  began  to 
trouble  me,  and  so  says  I,  '  may  be  you'll  walk  in  a  bit  and 
rest  you,  and  perhaps  I'll  be  after  finding  out  when  he  may 
be  back,  and  the  like  o'  that.'  I  thought  I'd  spake  her  fair, 
Miss  Sarah,  for  there  was  no  telling  what  might  come  of  it." 


120  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

"  And  did  she  come  in,  Betty  ?" 

"  Faith  and  she  did,  and  she's  waiting  down  there  a  bit, 
for  I  told  her  that  I  might,  may  be,  get  word  about  Mr. 
Edwards  ;  but  oh,  Miss  Sarah  !  Ochone,  ochone  !" 

Sarah  could  not  well  comprehend  the  cause  of  Betty's 
alarm,  but  was  resolved  to  see  for  herself. 

"  I  will  go  down  with  you,  and  see  her ;  is  she  in  the 
parlor,  Betty  ?" 

"  In  the  parlor,  indeed,  ma'am  !  No,  no,  it's  not  into 
the  parlor  that  Betty  would  be  takin'  the  like  of  her ;  the 
kitchen  is  too  good  for  her,  if  my  guess  is  right.  Ochone. 
ochone  !  what  a  world  it  is  !" 

Sarah  iuimediataly  descended  into  Betty's  sanctum — no 
very  uncomfortable  place  either,  for  it  was  kept  with  great 
neatness.  The  young  woman  arose  as  Sarah  entered,  and 
made  a  slight,  but  respectful  obeisance  to  her.  She  was,  as 
Betty  had  said,  neatly  and  decently  dressed,  although  there 
might  have  been  some  few  little  things  rather  showy,  and  in 
too  strong  contrast  with  her  principal  garments;  not  more 
so,  however,  than  is  frequently  witnessed  upon  those  who 
have  not  been  trained  to  a  nice  observance  of  uniformity. 
Her  countenance  was  agreeable,  and  the  expression  of  it,  to 
gether  with  her  deportment,  was  modest.  Sarah  saw  nothing 
that  had  any  appearance  of  impropriety. 

"  You  will  please  excuse  the  liberty,  but  I  am  very  anx 
ious  to  see  Mr.  Edwards,  and  perhaps  you  can  inform  me 
where  he  is,  and  how  I  could  find  him?" 

"  I  cannot  inform  you  where  he  is  at  present." 

"  Is  not  this  his  home  ?" 

Sarah  blushed  deeply  as  she  answered, 

"  Yes — or  at  least  it  has  been  his  home ;  but  circum 
stances  have  called  him  away  just  now." 

"  And  you  don:t  know  where  he  has  gone  ?" 

"  No,  not  positively.  Must  you  see  him  yourself,  or 
could  we  send  your  message  to  him  ?" 

"  Excuse  the  liberty  ;   are  you  his  sister  ?" 

"  No.  I  am  not ;  his  relatives  do  not  reside  in  the  city." 

The  young  woman  wa's  evidently  much  affected  by  this 
uncertain  intelligence,  and  seemed  hesitating  whether  to  de 
part  or  make  some  further  disclosures  Sarah  witnessed 
her  embarrassment. 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  121 

"  Perhaps  you  would  wish  to  see  me  alone  ?" 

"  I  should  be  glad  to,  Miss,  a  few  moments." 

Sarah  at  once  led  her  up  the  stairs,  while  Betty,  not  at 
all  reconciled  to  the  visitor  by  any  thing  she  had  heard, 
clasped  her  hands  together,  turned  her  eyes  towards  the 
ceiling,  and  poured  out  a  string  of  exclamations,  which,  pro 
bably,  had  the  effect  of  relieving  her  mind,  for  she  immedi 
ately  went  to  work  at  her  household  duties. 

Sarah  led  the  young  woman  into  her  own  apartment,  and 
as  soon  as  she  was  seated, 

"  I  fear  you  will  not  be  able  to  see  Mr.  Edwards  at  pre 
sent.  He  is  in  great  trouble  ;  perhaps  you  have  heard 
of  it  ?" 

"  I  have  not ;  in  fact  I  am  not  personally  acquainted  with 
Mr.  Edwards,  and  it  is  not  on  my  own  account  that  I  have 
called.  But  a  young  friend  of  mine,  Gertrude,  or  as  we 
call  h-sr  Gitty  Williams,  a  niece  of  Mr.  Upjohn's,  is  in  great 
trouble.  Perhaps  you  have  heard  Mr.  Edwards  speak  of 
her?" 

"  I  have  often  heard  him  speak  of  Mr.  Upjohn's  family, 
and  I  think  I  have  heard  him  mention  a  niece  of  theirs  of 
whom  they  were  very  fond." 

"  She  is  now  at  our  house.  She  is  very  unwell,  and  I 
fear  will  not  live,  and  she  has  a  great  desire  to  see  Mr. 
Edwards,  and  if  you  can,  in  any  way,  direct  me  to  him,  you 
will  do  a  great  kindness  to  a  poor,  Buffering  girl." 

Sarah  was  silent  a  few  moments ;  a  multitude  of  strange 
thoughts  oppressed  her : 

"  I  cannot,  certainly,  direct  you  to  Mr.  Edwards,  nor  do 
I  know  if  he  is  in  the  city ;  but,  could  I  do  any  good  by 
calling  myself,  upon  the  young  woman  ?  I  can  tell  her 
some  things  about  Mr.  Edwards  that  may  be  satisfactory  to 
her.  I  am  no  relative  of  his,  but  we  are  on  terms  of  great 
intimacy ;  he  has  long  been  a  member  of  our  family.  Do 
you  think  she  would  be  unwilling  to  see  me  ?" 

"  She  would  not  be  unwilling  to  see  you.  I  am  sure,  and 
it  might  be  a  satisfaction  to  her,  if  she  cannot  see  him,  to 
converse  with  you." 

Sarah  took  the  direction  which  the  young  woman  gave, 
and  then  waited  upon  her  to  the  door. 

It  was  near  candle-lighting,  and  as  her  uncle  and  aunt 
6 


122  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

were  to  be  absent  that  evening,  she  entered  the  parlor,  and, 
placing  a  lamp  upon  the  table,  laid  her  work  beside  her. 

She  was  glad  to  be  alone,  that  she  might  ponder  upon 
the  dark  and  troublous  events  that  were  gathering  around 
her.  The  interview  with  her  uncle  Augustus  on  that  day, 
had  been  one  of  trying  interest.  His  affectionate  treatment, 
his  deep  concern  for  her,  was  so  marked,  that  she  could  not 
mistake  its  meaning,  and  yet,  it  had  left  an  impression  of 
sadness  that  almost  sunk  her  young  and  elastic  spirits.  He 
had  felt  it  his  duty  to  open  before  her,  all  the  dark  features 
in  the  case  that  was  so  near  her  heart ;  he  could  see  no 
bright  spot  in  the  aspect  of  circumstances  which  surrounded 
James ;  he  had  poured  out  freely  of  his  means  to  command 
all  the  aid  necessary  to  enable  him  to  ward  off  the  terrible 
calamity  which  he  saw  was  coming  fast  and  sure.  But  he 
could  not  bear  the  thought,  that  his  "  Sally"  should  be  so 
connected  with  the  fate  of  Edwards,  that  one  blow  must  de 
stroy  them  both  ;  and  in  his  love  for  her,  he  had  ventured  to 
suggest  the  propriety  of  her  breaking  the  tie  which  had  bound 
them  together.  She  had  taken  it  kindly,  for  she  knew  that 
it  was  kindly  meant. 

And  now,  as  she  sat  alone,  all  that  he  had  said  came 
back  with  painful  freshness,  and  across  her  young  mind 
dark  visions  were  passing,  which  would  have  filled  one  less 
determined  with  the  gloom  of  despair. 

She  heard  a  knock  at  the  street  door,  and  knew  it  to  be 
that  of  her  cousin  Rudolph.  It  did  not,  as  once,  cause  un 
easy  sensations ;  in  fact  he  was  of  late  such  a  constant  visi 
tor,  that  he  had  almost  become,  as  formerly,  a  member  of  the 
family. 

His  treatment  of  Sarah  was  with  marked  kindness ;  he 
had  forborne  to  say  any  thing  in  reference  to  the  affairs 
of  James  Edwards,  as  he  saw  that  it  was  a  topic  unpleasant 
to  her  ;  or  if  mention  was  made  of  them  in  his  presence,  he 
manifested  such  an  interest  for  his  fate,  and  commiseration 
for  his  misfortunes,  that  he  had  effectually  succeeded  in  soft 
ening  her  feelings,  and  removing  her  former  prejudices 
against  him.  She  was  conscious  of  having  indulged  this  pre 
judice  ;  it  might  be  wrong,  and  therefore  she  had  endeavored 
to  drive  it  from  her.  They  were  both  orphans,  and  alike 
dependent  upon  the  kindness  of  their  friends  ;  they  had  been 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  123 

children  together ;  his  manners  were  pleasing,  and  as  she 
knew  that  his  freedom  of  intercourse  with  the  family  was 
gratifying  to  her  uncle  and  aunt,  it  was  but  her  duty  to  treat 
him  with  that  attention,  which  her  place  in  the  house  de 
manded. 

How  often  in  the  discharge  of  a  duty,  at  first  unpleasant, 
a  change  comes  over  our  feelings  ;  we  lose  our  disrelish,  and 
like  what  was  once  distasteful. 

Rudolph  had  only  changed  in  appearance ;  how  much  he 
loved  Sarah,  it  would  be  difficult  to  say  ;  but  a  strong  feeling 
had  taken  possession  of  his  mind,  that  led  him  to  use  every 
means  in  his  power  to  gain  her  hand. 

It  was  not  because  his  affections,  such  as  they  were,  had 
become  interested  in  her,  nor  was  it  because  she  had  in  pros 
pect  a  handsome  fortune  ;  neither  love  nor  avarice  was  the 
ruling  power  that  stimulated  him  in  the  pursuit. 

He  could  not  bear  the  thought  that  a  rival  should  inter 
pose  a  claim  to  an  object  which  his  heart  desired ;  the  fire 
that  burned  within  his  bosom  was  kindled  from  the  altar  of 
self ;  it  blazed  with  the  fury  of  fiendish  intensity,  and  wrap 
ped  his  soul  in  its  hellish  embrace. 

It  is  a  melancholy  task,  no  matter  to  whose  lot  it  may 
fall,  to  open  the  heart  of  the  bad  man.  and  unfold  its  hidden 
evils  ;  to  see  through  every  avemie  and  secret  cloister  there, 
the  slimy  trail  of  that  reptile  whose  coil  is  around  every  pas 
sion,  and  whose  forked  tongue  plays  in  fearful  malignity 
against  every  intruder  that  would  ennoble  or  bless  the  soul — 
that  hideous  monster  Self,  who  suffers  no  feeling  of  the  heart 
to  go  out  towards  another,  and  allows  no  warm  and  trustful 
love  to  enter  from  another  ;  who  wants  no  sweets  of  friendship, 
no  interchange  of  true  affection,  no  cordial  grasping  of  the 
heart.  Its  own  peculiar  designs,  its  own  unhallowed  cravings, 
are  alone  to  be  gratified,  should  love,  and  hope,  and  confidence, 
and  friendship's  purest  thoughts  be  crushed  and  ruined. 

As  Rudolph  entered,  a  smile  was  on  his  countenance ;  he 
was  dressed  with  peculiar  neatness,  and  there  was  a  confi 
dence  in  his  address  which  plainly  told,  that  he  knew  the 
external  man  was  as  it  should  be.  Sarah  could  not  but 
notice  his  manner  and  appearance,  and  she  could  not  realty 
find  fault  with  either.  He  was  certainly  a  gentleman,  and 
a  fine-looking  young  man.  Almost  glad  to  be  relieved  from 


124  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 


the  maze  of  her  troubled  thoughts,  she  met  his  salutations 
with  kindness.  Gifted  with  colloquial  powers,  Rudolph 
found  no  difficulty  in  bringing  forward  topics  that  were 
pleasing  ;  his  remarks  were  just,  and  corresponded  with  her 
own  views ;  she  could  not  but  coincide,  and  seemed  to  be 
rather  pleased  that  such  an  agreement  subsisted. 

Occasionally,  in  spite  of  her  sadness,  a  smile  would  be 
forced  from  her ;  she  could  not  help  it ;  nor  did  she  even 
wish  to  restrain  it.  The  more  like  her  former  self  she 
appeared,  when  she  was  his  little  laughing  cousin,  the  more 
did  he  feel  the  quickening  influence  of  hope.  He  went  back 
to  their  days  of  childhood,  and  talked  of  their  old  homes,  and 
of  the  parents  they  had  followed  to  the  tomb.  Sarah's  feelings 
were  just  in  a  state  to  be  excited  by  a  view  of  childhood's 
happy  hours,  and  a  parent's  trustful  bosom ;  and  she  wept. 
Rudolph  drew  nearer  to  her  ;  he  took  a  corner  of  the  work 
which  lay  upon  her  lap,  and  on  which  one  of  her  hands 
rested. 

"  Sarah,  why  cannot  we  be  friendly  ?" 

"  I  hope  we  are  friends,  cousin  Rudolph." 

"  There  has  not  been  for  some  time  that  cordiality  in 
our  intercourse,  Sarah,  which  perhaps  there  might  have  been. 
If  I  have  been  in  fault,  I  ask  your  forgiveness ;  will  you  for 
give  me,  Sarah?" 

Sarah's  tears  flowed  more  freely. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  forgive,  cousin  Rudolph  ;  you  have, 
certainly,  ever  been  kind  to  me." 

"  I  have  ever  felt  kindly,  Sarah,  and  if  you  knew  how 
many  unhappy  hours*  I  spend  on  your  account,  perhaps  you 
would  feel  that  I  have  stronger  claims  to  your  friendship 
than  you  now  do." 

"  I  do  not  wish  you  or  any  one  to  be  unhappy  on  my  ac 
count,  I  am  sure,  cousin  Rudolph." 

"  Is  it  kind  to  feel,  or  to  speak  thus,  Sarah  ?  Must 
I  be  forbidden  even  to  sympathize  with  you  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  cousin  Rudolph,  by  no  means ;  I  did  not  in 
tend  to  intimate  that." 

Sarah  gave  fresh  vent  to  her  tears,  and  Rudolph  saw  his 
advantage  ;  he  took  her  hand. 

"  Sarah,  I  must  entreat  of  you  to  listen  to  me  a  moment 
— I  love  you  most  truly ;  but  I  do  not  mean  to  trouble  you 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  125 

on  that  point.  It  is  not  for  my  own  sake.  I  ask  you  to  listen 
to  me  :  it  concerns  your  own  interest,  your  own  well  being. 
I  know  well,  why  it  is  that  my  presence  has  become  dis 
tasteful  to  you ;  I  will  not  blame  you  for  not  loving  me ; 
but  I  ask  you  to  pause — hate  me  if  you  will — but  pause  be 
fore  you  plunge  into  the  gulf  before  you." 

Sarah  withdrew  her  hand,  and  wiping  away  the  tears  that 
had  been  freely  flowing — 

"  What  gulf  do  you  mean,  cousin  Rudolph  ?" 

"  You  surely  cannot  mistake  my  meaning,  Sarah ;  you 
know  that  you  have  allowed  James  Edwards  to  feel  that  he 
had  full  command  of  your  heart ;  I  once  thought  well  of 
James,  as  you  now  do ;  but  now  I  know  what  you  do  not,  or 
you  would  sooner  trust  the  adder  that  lies  coiled  at  your 
feet,  and  take  "it  to  your  bosom,  than  you  would  trust 
that  young  man." 

Sarah  started  as  though  the  adder  was,  indeed,  near  to 
her. 

"  Cousin  Rudolph,  the  time  has  been  when  your  warning 
might  have  alarmed  me.  That  time  has  passed.  If  James 
Edwards  falls,  I  fall  with  him." 

"  Then  fall  you  must ;  for  his  fate  is  sure  as  the  setting 
sun.  He  is  and  must  be  an  outcast  for  ever.  Oh,  Sarah, 
listen  to  me — listen  to  reason ;  do  not,  my  dear  cousin,  per 
sist  in  clinging  to  a  connection  that  can  only  bring  disgrace 
to  you  and  all  connected  with  you.  You  are  bound  by  no 
human  or  Divine  tie ;  and  no  principles  of  honor  demand 
from  you  any  adherence  to  one  who  has  forfeited  his  rank  in 
society." 

Sarah  turned  upon  him  her  soft  bright  eye,  now  sparkling 
with  deep  emotion. 

"  Cousin  Rudolph,  no  human  law,  indeed,  binds  me  to  that 
unfortunate  young  man,  and  perhaps  no  principles  of  honor 
may ;  but  you  little  know  my  heart,  when  you  attempt  to 
move  it  by  such  arguments.  James  Edwards  is  innocent ; 
yes.  Rudolph,  he  is  innocent,  as  you  are,  of  the  crime  alleged 
against  him."  Sarah  saw  the  crimson  burning  his  brow  as 
she  said  this.  "  And  you  know  that  he  is  innocent."  Ru 
dolph's  eyes  flashed  with  indignation.  "  But  be  he  as  guilty 
as  you  pretend  to  believe,  I  will  cling  to  him  with  all  his 
errors,  with  all  his  disgrace,  and  die  with  him." 


126  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

Rudolph  was  about  to  answer,  but  there  was  something 
in  the  holy  emotion  that  glowed  in  Sarah's  countenance  which 
checked  him.  A  knock  at  the  front  door  announced  the  re 
turn  of  their  uncle  and  aunt,  and  as  soon  as  he  could  with 
propriety,  after  they  entered  the  room,  he  retired. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE  evils  which  come  upon  us  in  this  life  are,  in  most 
cases,  the  result  of  our  own  folly  or  weakness.  We  take  the 
first  rash  step,  or  we  allow  the  evil  one  to  get  his  insidious 
hold,  and  then  return  is  not  so  easy,  nor  can  the  ensnarer  be 
driven  off,  but,  it  may  be,  by  the  prostration  of  our  dearest 
hopes. 

Mr.  Upjohn  was  what  many  would  have  called  a  stern  man, 
and  yet,  as  we  have  seen,  he  could  not  at  the  proper  time,  and 
when  a  wise  denial  might  have  prevented  much  evil,  say  nay 
to  the  little  laughing  girl  whom  he  had  adopted  as  his  own. 

As  her  years  advanced,  the  power  which  he  once  had  to 
restrain  and  regulate  her  actions  grew  weaker.  She  had  done 
her  own  bidding  when  a  child,  and  it  was  not  to  be  expected, 
as  she  grew  to  womanhood,  that  she  would  easily  resign  her 
untamed  will. 

The  intimacy  which  Rudolph  Hunt  had  formed  with  the 
family  was  not  long  pleasing  to  Mr.  Upjohn.  He  was,  to  be 
sure,  an  engaging  companion  for  an  evening  entertainment ; 
he  was  polite  in  his  behavior,  and  had  a  fund  of  anecdote  that 
excited  many  a  merry  laugh  on  the  part  of  Gitty,  and  even 
made  the  brow  of  her  uncle  relax  its  sober  cast.  But  when 
the  heart  is  unsound,  it  is  very  difficult  so  to  cover  it  that  its 
corruption  shall  not  at  times  break  forth. 

Mr.  Upjohn  was  too  shrewd  a  man  not  to  notice  these 
symptoms,  and  they  filled  him  with  alarm.  Again  and  again, 
during  the  long  evenings  when  she  would  be  away,  had  he  held 
counsel  with  his  wife,  and  entreated  her  to  use  her  maternal 
influence  to  win  their  Gitty  from  the  fascination  which  had 
been  thrown  around  her.  But  she,  poor,  easy  soul,  had  long 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  127 

lost  her  control,  and  for  her  to  remonstrate  was  only  adding 
fuel  to  the  fire. 

Distracted,  at  length,  with  troubled  thoughts,  the  old  man 
resolved  to  use  that  power  which  he  fondly  believed  he  yet 
held  over  this  beloved  one  for  her  good. 

He  had  a  long  conversation  with  Gritty,  and  plainly  and 
fearlessly  unfolded  to  her  what  he  believed  to  be  the  charac 
ter  of  Rudolph,  and  entreated  her,  by  all  the  regard  which 
she  professed  for  those  who  had  performed  the  part  of 
parents  to  her,  to  act  upon  the  warning  which  he  gave  her. 
Gritty  wept  bitter  tears,  for  the  earnestness  and  kindness  of 
her  uncle  went  to  her  heart ;  but  when  he  closed  his  address 
by  telling  her  that  unless  she  wished  to  forfeit  his  good  will, 
*she  must  at  once  relinquish  all  the  attentions  of  the  young 
man,  and  that  if  she  ever  ventured  abroad  with  him  again, 
the  doors  of  her  home  should  be  closed  against  her  for  ever, 
the  strong,  uncurbed,  impetuous  will  of  Gitty  rose  up,  and 
placed  within  her  own  heart  an  impenetrable  barrier  against 
the  wish  of  her  uncle. 

She  dried  her  tears,  and  without  making  a  reply,  retired 
to  her  little  room.  That  very  evening  an  appointment  had 
been  made,  and  when  Rudolph  called,  she  asked  no  questions, 
nor  did  she  deign  to  give  her  aunt  any  information  as  to 
whither  she  was  going. 

Gitty  retraced  her  steps  that  evening,  with  the  full  deter 
mination  to  ask  pardon  of  her  friends,  and  submit  herself  to 
their  control  as  she  had  never  done  before.  Her  heart  was 
pure  ;  her  love  for  Rudolph  was  based  upon  virtuous  prin 
ciples  ;  she  had  never  seen  the  dark  spots  which  had  been  so 
visible  to  her  uncle.  That  evening  the  monster  was  revealed 
to  her  in  all  his  odiousness,  and  she  turned  from  him  with 
fear  and  loathing,  but  with  all  her  young  affections  blasted. 
Her  heart  had  been  cherishing  its  warmest  feelings,  and  hold 
ing  them  in  sacred  keeping  for  the  time  when  his  acknow 
ledgment  of  love,  pure  and  virtuous  love,  should  enable  her 
to  pour  them  forth  into  his  bosom — a  priceless  treasure. 
Mortified  and  indignant,  she  sought,  alone,  her  uncle's  dwell 
ing  ;  the  little  gate  opened  to  her  touch,  but  the  light,  which 
had  always  twinkled  from  the  window  where  her  uncle  sat, 
was  gone.  A  thrill  of  terror  at  once  oppressed  her ;  she  had 
not  believed  that  his  threat  would  be  executed.  She  sat 


128  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

down  upon  the  little  stoop,  and  wept  such  tears  as  she  had 
never  shed  before ;  and  there  she  remained  through  the  long 
damp  hours  of  the  night ;  once,  indeed,  she  tried  to  raise  the 
latch,  but  the  door  was  fastened,  and  no  one  gave  any  sign 
that  she  was  heard. 

As  the  night  went  on,  its  chills  penetrated  her  frame. 
She  wrapt  her  light  covering  about  her,  as  she  best  could,  but 
it  was  a  frail  protection.  The  morning  at  length  dawned  ; 
the  cold  had  chilled  her  very  heart,  and  its  beating  seemed 
about  to  cease.  But  colder  and  fainter  was  the  spiritual 
existence  of  which  that  beating  organ  is  but  a  symbol.  Dark, 
and  cold,  and  desolate,  was  the  dreary  waste  that  spread 
around  her ;  every  spark  of  that  fire  which  so  lately  glowed 
within  her  young  heart  was  extinguished.  As  the  day  was* 
breaking,  she  arose,  and,  with  tottering  steps,  hurried  from 
the  yard.  She  opened  the  little  gate,  and  looking  back,  fixed 
a  piercing  gaze  upon  the  dear  old  home.  Her  past  short  life 
was  all  before  her ;  it  was  emblazoned  on  every  board,  and 
brick,  and  shrub.  Every  day  of  her  remembered  existence 
had  been  spent  there,  and  all  her  thoughts  and  feelings  from 
childhood  to  that  hour,  all  met  her  gaze ;  all  said,  in  tones 
that  struck  a  deadlier  chill  upon  her  heart  than  the  cold  night 
air  had  done,  farewell.  She  felt  that  it  was  for  ever. 

As  her  friend  Lydia  was  the  only  one  to  whom  she  could 
think  of  applying  for  shelter,  she  made  the  best  speed  she 
could  thither.  Lydia  had  ever  loved  Gritty,  but  perhaps  a 
friend  with  more  discretion,  and  less  of  that  lightness  which 
leads  the  young  to  acts  of  folly,  might  have  been  better,  might 
have  changed  the  tenor  of  her  life,  and  made  her  what  her 
beautiful  person  and  her  lively  affections  once  promised  for 
her.  But  the  past  is  gone,  and  all  that  Gitty  could  say,  as 
her  friend  met  her  with  a  look  of  pain  and  surprise,  was. 

"  Lydia,  can  you  let  me  lie  down  on  a  bed  ?  for  I  fear  I  am 
very  ill." 

And  there  she  lay,  with  her  senses  fully  awake  to  the  folly 
of  the  past,  and  the  misery  of  her  present  condition.  Fain 
would  she  have  flown  ^o  those  dear  old  friends  who  had 
nourished  her  with  so  much  tenderness,  but  that  was  now  im 
possible  ;  and  her  only  desire  was,  that  they  might  come  to 
her  ;  for  she  wished  to  tell  them  how  wrong  she  had  been, 
and  ask  their  forgiveness  before  she  died.  The  parents  of 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVJED.  129 

Lydia  were  aged  and  infirm;  they  were  comfortably  off,  but 
unable  to  stir  abroad.  Lydia  had  incurred  the  displeasure  of 
Mr.  Upjohn,  and  did  not  dare  to  venture  on  an  errand  to  him. 
In  her  extremity,  Gitty  had  thought  of  James  Edwards  as 
one  who,  of  all  others,  would  have  influence  with  her  uncle, 
and  for  this  purpose  Lydia  had  gone  to  the  house  of  Mr. 
Hunt,  and,  as  we  have  seen,  had  an  interview  with  Sarah. 

When  Mr.  Upjohn  fastened  the  door  of  his  house  that 
evening,  and  extinguished  the  light,  and  laid  him  down  on  his 
bed  to  rest,  it  was  with  a  sadder  heart  than  he  had  ever  ex 
perienced  before.  His  feelings,  naturally,  were  of  the  warmest, 
most  tender  kind  ;  but  his  will  was  of  that  determined  charac 
ter  that,  when  once  fixed,  all  the  passions  of  his  soul  must 
bend  to  it.  He  had  gone  resolutely  forward  under  its  iron 
sway,  and  barred  his  home  against  the  only  object,  beside 
his  faithful  wife,  who  had,  for  many  years,  engrossed  his 
affections. 

He  had  told  her  his  determination,  and  come  what  might, 
his  word  should  not  be  broken.  Alas  !  how  careful  should 
we  be,  while  praising  that  fixedness  of  purpose  which  steps 
steadily  onward  to  its  object,  that  we  ever  hold  up  before 
each  other  the  sad  truth,  that  we  are  all  erring  mortals  ; 
and  that  we  may,  in  our  right-onward  progress,  crush  beneath 
our  steady  step  some  beautiful  flower,  that  might,  for  a  long 
time,  have  shed  forth  its  fragrance,  if  we  had  but  turned  a 
little  in  our  path. 

On  his  unquiet  bed  he  lay ;  and  as  the  clock  told  each 
passing  hour,  he  grew  more  find  more  restless.  The  conse 
quences  of  his  stern  decree  began  to  unfold  themselves  be 
fore  him ;  and  when  far  into  the  night,  and  when  all  expec 
tation  of  her  return  was  at  an  end.  he  would  have  given 
what  few  worldly  goods  he  possessed,  only  to  have  heard 
her  gentle  step  seeking  again  her  home.  Once,  he  almost 
thought  he  heard  the  latch  of  the  door  move,  and  long  he 
listened  ;  but  he  heard  it  not  again,  and  when  the  morning 
light  broke  in  upon  him,  he  arose  to  look  forth  upon  the  lit 
tle  world  with  which  he  was  surrounded,  and  see  that  all 
was  desolate, 

It  was  but  two  days  after  these  occurrences,  which  had 
thus  filled  all  the  parties  with  bitter  sorrow,  when  a  young  and 
well-dressed  lady  called  at  the  house  of  Mr.  Upjohn.  There 
5* 


130  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

was  a  dignity  and  ease  of  manner  which,  more  than  her  ex 
pressively  beautiful  countenance,  attracted  the  notice  and 
respect  of  the  old  man,  who  was  a  great  admirer  of  the  pro 
prieties  of  life.  She  introduced  herself  as  "  Sarah  Pearsall." 

"  I  have  called,"  she  said,  "  by  particular  request,  and  on 
an  errand  not  strictly  my  own,  since  it  concerns  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Upjohn  more  particularly  than  it  does  myself." 

They  both  looked  at  her  with  a  manifest  desire  to  know 
the  purport  of  her  errand. 

"  I  believe  you  are  intimately  acquainted  with  James 
Edwards  ;  I  have  often  heard  him  speak  of  your  family." 

"  James  has  been  a  frequent  visitor  here,  madam,  and  we 
have  felt  a  deep  interest  for  him  ;  but  from  what  we  hear, 
he  has  done  for  himself  for  this  world ;  and  grieved,  deeply 
grieved  are  we,  not  only  for  his  own  sake,  but  for  those  that 
are  near  and  dear  to  him." 

"  But  he  protests  his  innocence,  and  those  of  us  who 
know  him  intimately  have  no  doubt  of  it. 

Mr.  Upjohn  shook  his  head. 

"  I  hope  it  may  prove  so — I  hope  it  may  prove  so  ;  but 
there  is  little  faith  to  be  put  in  the  young,  now-a-days,  Miss, 
asking  your  pardon ;  little  are  they  to  be  relied  upon." 

For  a  moment,  Sarah  spoke  not ;  the  few  words  Mr.  Up 
john  had  said,  or  rather,  what  he  had  not  said,  but  only  sig 
nified,  filled  her  with  alarm,  such  as  she  had  not  felt  before. 

It  was,  however,  but  the  feeling  of  the  moment;  her 
mind  flew  back  to  the  hour  when  James  made  that  solemn 
assurance  of  his  innocence,  and  there  it  rested. 

"  I  came,  as  I  said,  sir,  not  on  business  of  my  own,  and 
merely  mentioned  Mr.  Edwards's  name  as  my  passport  to  a 
hearing  with  you.  I  came,  in  his  name,  to  plead  with  you 
for  your  niece,  who  is  in  the  house  of  Mr.  Langworthy,  lying 
on  a  bed  of  sickness,  from  which  it  is  feared  she  will  never 
rise.  She  is  deeply  penitent  for  the  past,  and  wishes  to  see 
you  that  she  may  ask  your  forgiveness  before  she  dies.  She 
has  asked  me  to  entreat  you,  if  that  were  necessary,  but  I  am 
sure  it  cannot  be,  for  Mr.  Edwards  has  often  told  me  how 
much  you  loved  her." 

"  Oh,  Miss,  it  is  from  those  we  love  the  dearest,  that  we 
suffer  most." 

Again  there  was  silence,  except  as  it  was  broken  by  the 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  131 

sobs  of  the  old  lady  who  had  begun  to  weep  at  the  first  men 
tion  of  Gitty's  name. 

"  I  hope,  sir,  my  coming  may  not  be  misunderstood  by 
you  as  officious  on  my  part ;  I  was,  providentially,  made  ac 
quainted  with  her  but  an  hour  ago,  and  as  she  had  no  one  by 
whom  &he  could  send  the  message  to  you,  I  offered  my  ser 
vices." 

"  And  I  assure  you,  Miss,  it  is  far  from  me  to  be  offended 
at  what  you  have  done.  It  is  a  sad  trial  that  we  are  suffer 
ing  under,  but  if  the  poor  child  wishes  to  see  us,  it  is  not  in 
our  hearts  to  say  no." 

The  voice  of  the  old  man  trembled,  and  he  paused.  "  No, 
it  is  not  in  our  hearts  to  say  that,  God  knows." 

He  wiped  the  tear  that  was  stealing  down  his  furrowed 
cheek.  "  Come,  wife,  if  Gritty  wants  to  see  us,  the  sooner  we 
are  there  the  better." 

Sarah  had  spoken  words  of  kindness  to  Gitty ;  she  had 
talked  to  her  about  things  that  Gitty  felt  were  of  more  con 
sequence  now,  than  all  earthly  matters,  and  when  she  had 
parted  from  her,  the  poor  sick  girl  entreated,  if  it  was  not 
too  much  to  ask,  that  she  would  return  once  more. 

The  distance  was  not  great,  and  soon  passed  over.  It 
was  but  a  few  days  since  the  youthful  sufferer  was  in  the 
bloom  of  life  and  beauty.  She  was  beautiful  still ;  but,  alas  ! 
when  the  heart  is  sick,  and  disease  has  laid  his  hand  upon 
us,  sad  changes  are  speedily  made. 

Mrs.  Upjohn  preceded  her  husband  to  the  bedside  ;  she 
saw  the  pale  and  disconsolate  countenance  of  her  who  had 
been  so  long  their  child,  and  throwing  herself  upon  her  bo 
som,  poured  forth  the  overflowings  of  her  heart. 

Gitty,  however,  had  a  heavy  heart  to  unburthen,  and  she 
could  only  do  it  to  her  who  had  ever  been  her  confidant  in 
the  days  of  her  childhood ;  and  there,  in  the  ear  of  her  weep 
ing  kinswoman,  she  poured  out  the  whole  story  of  her 
wrong. 

Mrs.  Upjohn  dried  her  tears,  and  rising  with  a  smile  of 
joy  upon  her  countenance, 

"  Husband,  let  us  praise  God.  Our  Gitty  has  been  in 
jured,  but  she  is  still  as  pure  and  spotless  as  when  she  was 
a  child  upon  your  knee.  Oh,  come  to  her,  papa." 

The  old  man  raised  his  hands. 


132  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

"  Thank  God  !"  and  he  bowed  his  head  over  his  dear 
Gitty,  and  looked  silently  into  her  eyes  now  glistening  with 
unnatural  brightness,  and  the  tears  fell  fast  and  free. 
"  My  dear  uucle,  forgive  me,  oh,  forgive  me." 
"  I  do,  I  do ;"  his  head  rested  on  her  sunken  cheek,  and 
her  arms  clung  to  him  as  they  had  often  done  in  her  days  of 
childhood. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

ADJOINING  the  house  in  which  the  sick  and  sorrow-stricken 
Gitty  lay,  was  a  small  building,  rather  old  and  rickety  in  its 
appearance.  It  had,  in  its  day,  been  a  little  more  elevated 
in  the  world  than  it  now  was,  for  it  had  required  an  ascent 
of  several  steps  to  enter  it ;  but  the  ground  upon  which  it 
was  built,  not  being  so  high  as  the  good  fathers  of  the  city 
thought  it  should  be,  to  correspond  with  adjacent  parts,  they 
ordered  the  street,  which  passed  the  little  building,  to  be 
filled  in  and  raised  sufficiently  to  suit  their  taste ;  the  conse 
quence  was  that,  as  the  owner  did  not  feel  able  to  raise  the 
foundation  of  his  house,  he  was  obliged  to  reverse  the  order 
of  its  steps,  and,  instead  of  walking  up  into  his  dwelling,  its 
inmates  were  obliged  to  descend  into  that,  and  ascend  into 
the  street. 

It  was  a  narrow  building,  and  almost  the  whole  front, 
beside  the  door  of  entrance,  was  taken  up  by  a  bow  window. 
It  was  one  of  those  windows  which,  in  the  great  city,  go 
without  much  washing  or  dusting.  In  fact,  I  do  not  know 
but  the  dust  and  cobwebs  which  had  gathered  upon  it,  were 
considered  by  the  occupants  as  rather  useful  than  otherwise, 
for  sufficient  light  found  its  way  into  the  little  room  which 
lay  back  of  it  for  all  necessary  purposes,  even  on  the  darkest 
days,  and  when  the  sun  shone  brightly,  his  rays  were  some 
what  shorn  of  their  lustre  in  passing  through  the  thick  cov 
ering — no  small  comfort  on  a  hot  afternoon. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  window,  ran  a  shelf,  covered  with  a 
curious  variety  of  old  locks,  rusty  keys,  brass  door  knobs, 
very  much  soiled  by  exposure,  together  with  an  assortment 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  133 

of  tools,  such  as  files,  little  hammers,  spring-saws,  long  steel 
awls,  &c.,  &c. 

Through  all  hours  of  the  day  could  be  seen,  by  the 
passer-by,  a  little  man,  seated  before  a  table  which  joined 
the  window  seat  at  a  right  angle,  and  ran  back  into  the 
room.  His  position  was  near  enough  to  the  window  to  en 
able  him  with  ease  to  reach  any  instrument  or  article  which 
might  lay  upon  it,  and  yet,  with  freedom,  to  turn  a  small 
lathe  connected  with  his  table,  upon  which  he  was  almost 
always  employed,  holding  some  small  piece  of  iron  or  steel, 
and  working  it  into  such  shape  as  he  no  doubt  had  a  clear 
idea  of,  but  which  a  looker-on  would  have  been  sorely  puzzled 
to  make  out.  There  was  no  sign  up  to  designate  the  busi 
ness  which  was  carried  on  within ;  but  it  could  not  well  be 
mistaken  for  any  thing  else  than  it  really  was — a  place 
where  old  keys  were  mended  or  altered,  and  locks  not  too 
badly  injured,  repaired. 

A  lighted  door  opened  from  this  shop  into  a  long,  nar 
row  room,  that  was  kept,  if  not  very  neatly,  at  least  suffi 
ciently  so  to  be  quite  in  contrast  with  things  in  front.  It 
was  the  parlor,  bedroom,  and  kitchen,  which  served  the  old 
man  and  his  wife  for  each  of  these  purposes  respectively. 

The  occupation  was  one  laudable  enough,  and  brought  in 
quite  a  little  revenue.  There  are  more  old  keys  to  be  mend 
ed  in  a  large  city,  than  one  such  establishment  can  attend 
to,  and  as  the  shop  in  question  drew  its  customers  from  a 
large  area,  there  was  always  work  on  hand. 

It  is,  probably,  not  quite  according  to  the  strict  rules  of 
justice,  that  the  maker  of  an  article  should  be  responsible 
for  the  use  it  may  be  put  to ;  yet  there  are  some  trades  of 
such  peculiar  character,  that  the  vender  or  manufacturer 
can  scarcely  be  called  innocent,  unless  a  watchful  eye  is  kept 
upon  his  customers. 

Among  the  variety  that  came  to  purchase  old  keys,  or  to 
get  others  changed  to  answer  some  particular  lock,  the  old 
man  could  sometimes  give  a  good  guess  as  to  the  character 
of  the  applicant,  and  the  use  to  be  made  of  the  article ;  and 
many  a  watchword  has  he,  in  his  day,  given  to  one  who  was 
much  distinguished  for  his  adroitness  in  following  the  clue 
to  a  roguery. 

It  was  drawing  towards  the  close  of  a  lowery  day,  when  a 


134  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

man  of  robust  appearance  entered  the  street  not  far  from 
the  described  premises,  and  walked  towards  them  with  a 
loitering  gait,  his  eye  wandering  carelessly  from  person  to 
person,  and  from  thing  to  thing,  now  glancing  at  the  loaded 
cart  and  its  driver,  and  then  at  the  dwelling  by  which  he 
happened  to  be  passing.  He  had  rather  a  stubborn-looking 
cane,  which  he  carried  in  a  careless  manner,  holding  it  near 
its  centre,  and  dropping  it  upon  the  pavement  in  time  with 
his  own  step.  As  he  came  opposite  the  little  lock  and  key 
shop,  he  paused  and  fixed  his  eye  for  a  moment  upon  its 
busy  occupant,  who  could  be  but  dimly  seen  through  the 
dusky  light  within.  Then  stepping  down  he  opened  the 
door  without  ceremony,  and  stood  watching  the  operation 
without  saying  a  word,  or  receiving  any  notice  or  salutation. 
Presently  the  wheel  stopped  buzzing,  the  old  man  looked 
very  intently  at  the  work  he  had  been  performing,  and  then 
laying  it  carefully  by  itself,  threw  his  spectacles  on  his  fore 
head,  and  turned  one  eye  full  upon  his  visitor,  while  the 
other  seemed  to  be  resting  on  some  object  in  another  part  of 
the  room. 

"  Well,  uncle,  you  keep  the  little  wheel  buzzing,  I  see. 
What  contrivance  is  that  you've  put  away  so  carefully  ?" 

"  It's  nothing  that  concerns  you,  or  any  of  your  craft. 
It  is  something  I'm  fixing  for  a  real  honest  man." 

"  Then  you  acknowledge  you  do  jobs  sometimes  for  folks 
that  may  be  a  little  slippery  ?" 

"  Why,  I  did  one  for  you  the  other  day." 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha, — well  done,  uncle  Bill." 

"  But  come  round,  man.  and  take  a  seat,  I  want  to  chat 
a  little  with  you  about  a  small  matter,  and  as  you  are  always 
hunting  for  game,  may  be  I  can  put  you  on  a  scent." 

The  visitor  turned  his  eyes  round  the  little  room,  and 
taking  an  old,  short-legged  stool,  placed  it  at  one  end  of  the 
long  table,  and  resting  his  chin  upon  his  fists,  which  he  had 
piled  one  above  the  other  upon  it,  looked  straight  across  at 
the  owner  of  the  shop,  who  had  fixed  himself  very  much  in 
the  same  position. 

The  two  looked  at  each  other  in  silence,  for  some  time, 
and  formed  rather  a  grotesque  appearance,  for  neither  had 
any  thing  to  boast  in  the  way  of  beauty,  and  their  features 
and  forms  were  in  perfect  contrast.  The  visitor  was  stoutly 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  135 

built,  his  countenance  heavy,  and  his  projecting  eyes,  as  he 
rolled  them  up  in  the  position  in  which  he  was  sitting,  pre 
sented  rather  a  severe  aspect. 

The  other  had  little  besides  his  covering  of  skin,  and 
that  very  much  dried  up  and  wrinkled ;  he  was  small  in 
stature,  and  small  in  latitude ;  there  was  very  little  of  any 
thing  to  him  ;  his  features  were  screwed  together,  probably 
having  become  so,  from  the  habit  of  looking  hard  at  small 
objects,  and  his  eyes  were  not  at  all  in  harmouy  with  each 
other,  for  they  never  looked  at  the  same  object  at  one  time. 
There  was,  however,  a  shrewdness  to  the  cast  of  his  counte 
nance,  and  a  penetration  to  his  eye.  that  might  have  suited 
a<  lawyer,  whose  professional  business  was  chiefly  with  hard 
accounts  and  tangled  statements. 

"  Well,  old  Jack,  what  will  you  give  me  now  for  a  clue  to 
a  villain  ?" 

"  Me  ! — give  ! — nothing — I  can  put  my  hand  on  more 
villains  than  I  can  on  honest  men,  any  time." 

"  No  doubt  of  that,  for  your  hands  have  no  business  on 
honest  folks  ;  but  say,  what  will  you  give  ?" 

"Pshaw,  what  is  it  to  me?  but  tell,  if  you've  got  any 
thing  worth  knowing." 

The  old  man  changed  his  position,  turned  from  the 
table,  and  crossing  his  legs: 

"  You  know  James  Upjohn?" 

"  Yes,  what  of  him  ?" 

"  Nothing  of  him ;  but  his  niece  is  next  door  here,  with 
old  Simon  Longworthy's  folks;  there's  been  some  trouble 
between  her  and  the  old  man ;  you  see  I  learnt  it  through 
their  daughter  Lyddy  ;  she  runs  into  our  house  every  now 
and  then  to  have  a  chat  with  the  old  woman.  These  galls, 
I  tell  you  what,  don't  they  beat  the  mischief?" 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  the  girls  ;  I  never  had  much 
to  dt)  with  them ;  but  go  on,  and  let's  hear  what  you're  driv 
ing  at." 

"  Well,  you  see,  this  young  one  of  Upjohn's  took  a  notion 
to  a  dandy-like  young  Jack  that  old  Jemmy  didn't  fancy ; 
the  old  man,  you  know,  sees  straight  ahead ;  he's  no  fool, 
you  know  that." 

"  Yes.  yes,  I  know  him ;  but  get  on  with  your  story." 

"  Well,  Upjohn  ups  and  tells  his  niece  that  she  must 


136  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

chop  him  right  off — and  the  old  man,  you  know,  won't  be 
balked,  if  he  can  help  it — and  she  knew  when  he  said  the 
thing,  that  was  enough.  Well,  she  wouldn't  give  him  up,  so 
she  clears  out — and  what  do  you  think  ?" 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  for  you  are  telling  such  a  cock- 
and-bull  story,  the  old  :un  himself  could'nt  see  the  end  of 
it." 

"  That  incarnate,  what  shall  I  call  him  ?  that  false 
hearted  fiddlestick  of  a  fellow,  just  when  she  got  into  trouble, 
and  all  for  his  sake,  turns  his  back  upon  her,  and  leaves  her ; 
don't  you  call  him  a  villain  ?" 

"  Yes,  villain  enough  for  all  that  matter  ;  but  if  I  should 
be  obliged  to  look  after  such  kind  of  rogues,  I  should  have 
work  enough ;  the  law  won't  touch  him,  you  old  fool,  if  he 
should  break  a  dozen  girls'  hearts ;  is  that  all  you've  got  to 
say  ?" 

"  Not  exactly  ;  you  won't  wait,  and  hear  me  out.  You 
see,  a  man  that  will  do  such  a  thing  as  that,  aint  too  good  to 
do  worse — that's  my  mind.  Well,  one  day,  not  long  since, 
a  youngster  came  in  here  to  get  a  job  done  for  him ;  I  know 
a  few  things,  and  I  can  tell  when  there's  deviltry  in  it ; 
thinks  I,  young  chap,  I  shall  keep  my  eye  on  you,  for  all 
the  cut  of  your  rig  is  so  smooth.  Well,  he  wanted  me  to  fix 
him  a  key,  like  a  pattern  he  had,  and  a  curious  thing  it  was, 
I  tell  you.  I've  seen  all  kinds  of  keys,  but  I  never  saw  such 
a  twistical  concern  as  that ;  and  what  kind  of  a  pattern  do 
you  think  I  was  to  make  it  from  ?" 

"  Why,  another  key." 

"  No,  it  war'nt — no  such  thing  ;  nothing  but  a  piece  of 
dough ;  and  how  the  critter  contrived  to  git  such  a  clean 
cast  of  it  was  a  mystery  to  me ;  he's  a  cute  one,  tliat,  depend 
on  it.  Well,  I  took  the  directions  and  all  about  it,  and  off  he 
goes,  and  now  just  see  how  queer  it  happened ;  you  see  that 
curtain  there  up  to  the  door :  the  old  woman  keeps  it  down 
a  little,  just  so  she  can  see  through.  Well,  who  should  be  in 
the  room  all  the  while  the  young  fellow  was  here,  but  Lyddy, 
and  you  know  these  gals  are  full  of  curosity ;  so  Lyddy 
takes  a  sly  peep  into  the  old  shop.  '  Who  do  you  think,' 
says  she  to  my  old  woman — '  who  do  you  think  it  is  ?  I 
know,'  said  she." 

"  Who  was  it  ?     What's  the  name  ?" 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  137 

"  Well,  I  can't  remember  names  without  I  put  'em  down. 
But  you  see  she  wouldn't  tell  the  name  ;  whether  she  was 
afeared  there  was  something  wrong  going  on.  or  afeared  that 
I  should  tell  him  that  she  had  been  peeping  at  him,  or 
whether  it  was  for  clear  mischief,  I  can't  say,  but  we  couldn't 
make  her  tell ;  only,  she  wanted  to  know  when  he  was  com 
ing  again,  and  I  telled  her." 

"  Did  she  see  him  again  ?" 

"  She  did  ;  but  we  couldn't  get  the  name  out  of  her,  do 
our  best." 

':  Why  didn't  you  get  him  to  leave  his  name,  when  he 
gave  the  order?" 

"  There  now !  is  that  you  ?  and  don't  you  know  better 
than  that — don't  you,  now  ?" 

••  Why.  I  suppose  if  there  was  any  deviltry  in  it,  he 
wouldn't  be  very  likely  to  give  you  the  right  one." 

•  "  There  you  have  it.  He  did  give  his  name  ;  but  when 
a  man  stammers  at  his  own  name,  then  look  out,  says  I ;  but, 
I  got  the  right  one  for  all  that ;  I've  got  his  name,  there  in 
my  locker,  and  no  mistake." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?" 

"  Why,  you  see,  it  was  by  pure  luck,  or  may  be  the  old 
one  helped  along  a  little ;  you  know,  sometimes,  he  helps 
rogues  the  wrong  way  ;  just  hear  now.  I  finished  the  key,  and 
he  was  satisfied  that  it  was  the  thing.  '  What's  to  pay,'  says 
he  ?  'So  much,'  says  I,  and  with  that,  he  outs  with  a  hand 
ful  of  change,  papers,  keys,  and  every  thing  from  his  pocket, 
at  once ;  it  was  getting  dark  like  ;  he  laid  it  all  down  among 
my  rubbish  on  the  counter,  and  after  he  paid  me  and  picked 
up  his  trash,  I  saw  he  had  left  a  penknife,  a  little  bit  of  a 
concern  ;  thinks  I,  '  Bill,  keep  dark  ;'  he  never  saw  it,  and 
just  then  old  Sandy  Ferguson  stepped  in,  and  the  youngster 
went  off  like  a  shot." 

"  A  name  on  the  knife  ?" 

"  Isn't  there,  my  boy — all  out  in  full  as  pretty  as  a  pic 
ture." 

"  Let  me  see  it,  Bill  ?" 

"  What  will  you  give  me  ?" 

"  Oh.  none  of  your  fun,  uncle  Bill ;  I  am  serious  now'; 
this  is  a  matter  of  more  consequence  than  you  think  for." 

The  old  man  immediately  turned  round,  and  unlocking 


138  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

a  small  desk,  handed  a  neat  and  costly  penknife  to  Mr. 
Catchem,  for  the  reader  may  as  well  know  the  name,  if  he  has 
not  already  guessed  it. 

A  grim  smile  played  upon  his  features  as  he  read  the 
name,  engraved  on  a  silver  plate. 

"  A  good-looking  fellow,  wasn't  he  ?" 

«  Yes." 

"Dark  hair?" 

"  Yes." 

"Dark  eyes?" 

«  Yes." 

"  Pale  looking  ?" 

«  Yes." 

"  Rather  genteel  in  his  rig  ?" 

«  Just  so." 

"  It  is  just  as  I  thought ;  he  is  the  rogue,  and  they  will 
find  it  out  as  I  told  them." 

"  Then  you  know  about  him  ?" 

"  I  know  enough  about  him  ;  as  much  as  I  want  to.  He 
is  the  very  one  that  had  some  of  old  Geordie  Hunt's  money  in 
his  trunk,  and  swore  to  me  that  he  knew  nothing  about  it, 
and  all  that ;  and  he's  made  some  of  them  believe,  that  he  is 
innocent  as  a  lamb.  But  part  of  your  story,  Bill,  don't  hang 
together  ;  first  you  went  on  to  tell  me  a  long  rigmarole  about 
a  young  fellow  that  jilted  that  girl  of  Upjohn's ;  what  has 
that  girl  to  do  with  this  ?" 

"  You  are  always  in  such  a  hurry,  Jack,  that  a  man 
hasn't  time  to  put  the  ends  of  his  story  together.  You  see, 
when  Lyddy  first  got  sight  on  him,  she  came  up  slyly  to  my 
old  woman — says  she,  '  that's  Gritty's  beau  ;  what  can  he  be 
wanting?'  But  the  old  woman  didn't  know  about  their 
beaus.  you  know  these  galls  have  so  many  of  them  ;  and  she 
asked  the  name,  but  then  she  wouldn't  tell.  But  last  night 
we  found  out  all  about  it,  and  he's  the  very  one  that  she  saw 
in  here,  that  was  the  cause  of  all  the  trouble  that  poor  girl 
is  in.  and  like  as  not  she  won't  live ;  they  say  she  won't." 

"  Well,  well,  here's  this  pretty  little  tell-tale ;  you  keep 
it  snug,  till  it's  called  for.  You  can  swear  to  the  chap  if  you 
see  him  again,  can't  you  ?" 

"  Never  fear  of  me  ;  I  could  pick  him  out  among  a  thou 
sand  ;  I've  marked  him." 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  139 

"  That's  you.     Well,  I  must  be  jogging  ;  so  bad  luck  to 
you,  old  fellow." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

TIME  rolls  on  his  steady  round,  and  the  fears  and  hopes  which 
agitate  the  breast  of  man,  which  have  pressed  his  vision  for 
ward  into  the  dark  future,  must  at  length  have  their  truth  or 
falsehood  tested.  And  how  many  of  us  are  there  who  live 
alone  on  the  interests  of  the  present  moment — who  have  no 
to-morrow  hastening  towards  us,  whose  revelations  shall  crown 
us  with  the  wreath  of  happiness,  or  sink  our  heaving  bosoms 
into  the  gloom  of  despair  ! 

"  To-morrow,"  said  James  Edwards,  as  he  paced  the  little 
room  in  a  lodging-house  where  he  had  spent  the  most  of  his 
time  since  his  return  from  the  country,  and  in  which,  hour  by 
hour,  he  had  sat  and  ruminated  over  the  tangled  maze  in 
which  his  fate  was  enveloped,  "  to-morrow  !  it  will  be  over — 
the  worst  will  be  known."  And  the  thoughts  that  rushed 
upon  him  as  he  said  this,  the  dark  images  that  arose  like 
magic  spectres,  and  spread  out  their  horrors  to  his  view,  threw 
back  the  life-blood  to  its  covert,  and,  helpless  almost  as  an 
infant,  he  cast  his  trembling  frame  upon  the  couch  that  was 
near  at  hand,  and  wrung  his  hands  in  agony. 

Alas  !  for  poor  fallen  man.  The  relics  of  that  better 
state  which  once  was  thine,  which  spread  such  enchanting 
loveliness  even  around  the  tattered  wreck  ;  the  loves  which 
pour  their  perfume  on  the  heart,  and  almost  make  it  feel 
that  airs  of  Heaven  are  breathing  their  freshness  round  it, 
how  even  these,  rich  treasures  left  thee,  are  oft  "the  enve 
nomed  tooth,"  the  wormwood,  and  the  gall  of  life.  And 
now  around  that  pale  and  trembling  youth  start  up  all  the 
enchantments  that  love  and  friendship  can  awaken.  Their 
beautiful  images  flit  before  his  agonizing  mind,  and  every 
friend  whose  being  was  the  sola,ce  of  his  heart,  and  every 
joy  that  had  blessed  his  past  life,  and  every  hope  that 


140  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

sparkled  in  the  distant  future,  were  all  near,  but  as  cruel 
thorns  within  that  secret  place  where  love  and  hope  abide. 

He  is  aroused  from  the  power  of  his  troubled  thoughts  by 
a  tap  at  the  door.  A  well-timed  friend,  Mr.  Augustus  Hunt, 
has  come  on  business  of  deep  moment,  and  the  anxious  look 
he  brings  with  him  denotes  that  he.  too.  has  his  own  cares 
and  distresses  in  view  of  the  "  to-morrow"  which  was  so  near 
at  hand. 

James  arose  as  he  entered,  and  the  greeting  between  them 
was  cordial,  although  the  hand  was  grasped  in  silence,  and  not 
even  a  smile  was  visible  on  either  countenance. 

Mr.  Hunt  took  the  seat  which  was  offered  him,  laid  his 
large  brimmed  hat  upon  the  table,  and  wiped  away  the  drops 
which  had  gathered  on  his  brow. 

':  I  have  just  come  from  having  along  talk  with  OUT  coun 
sel  ;  have  you  seen  them  to-day  ? 

"  I  have,  sir." 

"  Things  don't  look  much  brighter  as  tney  view  them." 

"  So  it  seems,  sir." 

"  I  have,  as  I  said,  had  a  long  conversation  with  them  both. 
Your  young  friend,  like  all  young  men,  has  a  hope  that  some 
thing  may  turn  up,  but  it  is  a  very  serious  matter  to  have  the 
judgment  of  twelve  men  passed  upon  us.  under  oath  to  de 
cide  according  to  the  evidence  brought  before  them  ;  and, 
as  it  now  stands,  with  all  the  evidence  on  one  side — all 
against  us." 

" It  is  so,  sir ;  but  what  more  can  be  done?" 

"  I  said  your  young  friend  was  still  hoping  that  something 
would  turn  up  ;  but  the  other  feels  differently ;  he  is  a  man, 
you  know,  of  large  experience  in  such  matters,  and  he  looks 
things  right  in  the  face.  I  don't  know.  James,  but  he  has 
said  to  you  just  what  he  has  to  me  ;  but  to  him  it  looks  dark." 

"  Yes,  sir,  he  has  told  me  so." 

"  And  you  asked  me  just  nowwhatmore  can  be  done.  I 
see  but  one  thing  that  can  be  done,  and  I  have  coa.e  here  this 
evening  to  propose  it  to  you." 

James  fixed  his  eye  intently  upon  him  for  a  moment. 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  hear  it,  sir ;  and  I  assure  you,  Mr. 
Hunt,  if  it  is  any  thing  that  I  can  do " 

"  Well,  well,  but  before  I  propose  it  to  you,  Sally  must 
know  of  it ;  I  must  see  you  together.  I  wont  do  any  thing 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  141 

underhanded  about  it.  She  is  now  at  the  house  of  a  friend, 
where  I  promised  to  bring  you,  and  where  we  can  have  a 
free  talk  together  by  ourselves  ;  and  now  I  want  you  to  go 
with  me." 

James  answered  not,  for  the  rush  of  thoughts,  at  the  pros 
pect  of  meeting  Sarah,  had  utterly  confused  his  mind. 

"  You  seem  to  hesitate,  Master  James  ;  one  would  think 
you  would  rejoice  at  an  interview." 

"  Mr.  Hunt,  you  will  excuse  my  appearing  insensible  to 
your  proposition,  for  I  am  sure  it  is  meant  in  kindness  ;  but 
you  know,  sir,  that  I  have  not  seen  your  niece  since  the  hour 
when,  like  an  angel  from  Heaven,  she  came  to  my  cell  in 
prison,  and  ventured  her  all  of  life  upon  my  assertion  of  in 
nocence.  I  have  felt  that,  until  I  can  stand  again  an  equal 
with  my  fellows,  and  every  taint  of  this  suspicion,  which  now 
rests  upon  me.  is  washed  away,  it  would  be  unjust  to  her  that 
I  should  do  aught  to  connect  her  name  with  mine,  or  continue 
an  intimacy  that  may  possibly,  and  I  do  not  know  but  I  must 
now  say,  will  in  all  probability  attach  disgrace  with  it." 

"  I  know  it  all,  James  ;  I  respect  your  motives  ;  you  have 
acted  in  this  matter  as  a  man  should,  but  it  is  idle  to  let  small 
matters  come  up  now.  I  wish  to  propose  a  step  to  you  that 
will  concern  her,  as  well  as  yourself,  and  it  must  be  done  in 
the  presence  of  you  both." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say,  but  will  do  as  you  wish.  I  will 
accompany  you,  sir." 

The  feelings  which  rioted  in  the  breast  of  James  Edwards, 
as  he  entered  the  room,  it  would  not  be  very  easy  to  describe. 
The  first  glimpse  of  her  lovely  countenance,  as  she  turned  her 
mild  bright  eye  upon  him,  unfolding  the  strength  of  that 
affection  which  no  circumstances  of  dismay  could  weaken,  had 
well  nigh  unmanned  him  ;  he  could  have  fallen  at  her  feet, 
almost  a  worshipper.  But  his  strength  of  purpose  at  once 
roused  every  faculty  of  his  soul  to  its  aid.  He  received  her 
offered  hand,  and  even  felt  her  warm  grasp  pressing  his  with 
the  cordiality  of  a  sifter's  greeting,  but  he  returned  it  not ; 
his  cold  and  unmeaning  salutation  might  have  answered  for 
one  whose  heart  had  no  feeling  for  the  hand  to  express. 

A  chill  struck  the  heart  of  Sarah,  and  it  was  with  diffi 
culty  she  reached  the  seat,  which  with  such  bounding  feelings 
she  had  left  to  greet  him  on  his  entrance.  Her  womanly  pride, 


142  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

however,  soon  came  to  her  relief,  and  her  whole  frame  was 
quickened  by  its  powerful  stimulus.  There  was  no  time,  how 
ever,  for  the  indulgence  of  emotions,  comparatively  trivial. 

"  And  now,  my  darling,"  said  Mr.  Hunt,  as  he  took  his 
seat,  "  we  must  proceed  to  business,  for  there  will  be  no  time 
to  lose.  I  have  brought  you  together,  that  what  I  say  may 
be  said  before  you  both,  and  then  there  can  be  no  misunder 
standing.  To-morrow  is  coming  on  fast,  and  when  it  comes, 
there  will  be  no  time  for  any  new  arrangements  ;  and  now  to 
the  point.  I  have  had  a  free  and  full  talk  with  the  counsel, 
and  as  I  have  told  you  before,  my  darling,  and  as  I  have  told 
James,  this  evening,  they  give  no  encouragement.  Now, 
when  an  evil  is  coming  upon  us,  there  is  no  use  in  shutting 
our  eyes,  or  turning  away  our  head ;  it  won't  keep  off  the 
danger,  nor  fit  us  to  meet  it.  In  this  case,  the  consequences 
of  a  defeat  are  too  terrible  to  think  of;  I  need  not  tell  you 
what  condition  James  would  be  in,  nor  is  it  worth  while  to  say 
what  condition  his  family  would  be  in ;  and  there  is  no  pros 
pect  now  but  that  a  verdict  must  be  given  against  him.  When 
we  cannot  face  an  evil,  we  must  fly  from  it." 

Mr.  Hunt  paused  and  cast  his  eye  towards  James,  who 
was  looking  at  him,  every  feature  strained  with  the  intensity 
of  his  interest. 

"  How  can  I  shun  the  ordeal  which  is  before  me,  sir  ? 
Surely  you  would  not  ask  me  to  do  it  by  flight." 

"  There  is  no  other  way." 

"  And  what  would  be  the  consequences  ?" 

"  The  consequences  I  expect  to  meet.  As  your  surety.  I 
shall  be  held  responsible  for  the  amount  of  bail ;  that  I  will 
readily  pay,  and  moreover,  besides  that,  I  have  now  by  me  a 
sum  sufficient  to  carry  you  far  away  from  here,  and  to  enable 
you  to  establish  yourself  in  a  new  place.  There  will  be  but 
little  pains  taken  to  search  for  you,  and  in  a  short  time  the 
whole  matter  will  be  forgotten." 

James  fixed  his  eye  firmly  upon  Sarah,  if  possible  to  pry 
into  the  feelings  which  were  working  in  her  breast.  Mr. 
Hunt  noticed  his  searching  glance,  and  as  though  he  could 
look  into  the  thoughts  of  the  young  man,  continued, 

"  This  proposal  comes  entirely  from  myself,  and  it  is  the 
first  idea  of  the  kind  that  has  escaped  my  lips  to  either  of 
you," 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  143 

James  at  length  arose  ;  his  countenance  was  flushed,  for  he 
was  highly  excited. 

"  Mr.  Hunt,  I  appreciate  your  feelings  ;  your  offer,  I  know, 
is  dictated  by  kindness  ;  but  allow  me  to  ask  you  whether  my 
flight  would  not  be  construed  into  an  acknowledgment  of 
guilt  ?» 

"  It  doubtless  would,  but  what  would  the  opinion  of  the 
public  be,  if  you  become  the  tenant  of  a  prison  ?" 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,  most  heartily  thank  you,  for  the  liber 
ality  of  your  present  offer,  and  for  the  noble  and  generous 
conduct  you  have  manifested  towards  me  in  my  sad  and  friend 
less  condition ;  you  shall  be  remembered  by  me  with  grati 
tude  while  my  mind  retains  its  consciousness.  I  know  well, 
sir,  how  terrible  will  be  my  condition  should  I  fall  beneath 
the  solemn  verdict  of  a  jury,  which,  from  all  that  now  appears, 
there  is  every  prospect  I  must  suffer.  I  have  a  loving  mother, 
whose  heart  is  bleeding  in  anguish  at  my  hopeless  state,  and 
I  have  two  angel  sisters,  who  would  go  to  prison  and  to  death 
for  me ;  I  love  them  with  the  full  power  of  my  mind  ;  and 
above  all  these,  I  hold,  as  my  heart's  richest  treasure,  that 
lovely  being  now  sitting  by  your  side.  To  these,  I  fear  not 
to  say  I  am  ready  at  any  time  to  sacrifice  my  life.  But,  sir, 
dear  as  these  priceless  treasures  are  to  me,  I  hold  them  all  as 
nought,  when  compared  with  that  integrity  of  heart  which  I 
will  cleave  unto,  even  to  the  depths  of  degradation.  To 
morrow  I  am  to  be  arraigned  as  a  culprit ;  my  friends  may 
leave  me,  my  counsel  may  desert  my  cause  as  hopeless,  and 
the  world  may  point  at  me  as  a  recreant  to  virtue  ;  but  at  that 
tribunal  I  shall  appear,  if  God  spares  my  life,  alone,  un 
friended,  if  so  it  must  be  ;  and  if  nothing  else,  I  can  at  least 
appeal  to  Him  who  knows  my  heart  that  I  am  not  guilty  of 
the  act  alleged  against  me  ;  if  it  be  His  will  that  I  suffer, 
His  will  be  done ;  but  never,  never,  never,  will  I  do  an  act 
that  shall  be  an  acknowledgment  of  guilt." 

Sarah  threw  herself  into  her  uncle's  arms. 

"  Dear  uncle,  he  is  right ;  James  is  right ;  let  the  will  of 
God  be  done." 

Mr.  Hunt  was  deeply  affected  ;  he  grasped  the  hand  of 
the  young  man. 

"  I'll — I'll  stand  by  you,  come  what  will." 

James  parted  from  Sarah  as  he  had  met  her  ;  he  felt  the 


144  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED, 

deep  stigma  that  rested  upon  him ;  his  heart  yearned  in  its 
fulness  towards  her,  but  he  felt  that,  until  his  innocence 
should  be  made  manifest,  he  could  never  clasp  her  as  his 
own. 

Mrs.  Edwards  and  her  daughters  would  gladly  have  fol 
lowed  James  to  the  city,  that  they  might,  in  the  event  of  his 
conviction,  have  been  present  to  sustain  his  spirit,  and,  as 
far  as  they  could,  share  his  trouble ;  but  at  the  earnest  soli 
citation  of  Mr.  Wharton.  they  had  concluded  to  remain  at 
home  until  the  result  should  be  known,  on  condition  that 
he  should  take  their  place. 

Mr.  Wharton  did  not  reach  the  city  until  the  morning 
of  the  trial.  A  dark,  chilly  morning,  too,  it  was  ;  and  in 
that  respect,  accorded  with  the  feelings  of  those  whose  fate 
hung  upon  the  uncertainties  of  the  day.  Few  words  passed 
between  James  and  his  old  friend  as  they  met  in  his  little 
room.  There  are  moments  of  bitterness  in  life,  when,  like 
the  companions  of  Job,  the  lookers  on  in  the  sad  drama  feel 
that  all  the  consolation  their  words  can  afford,  is  to  the  suf 
ferer's  heart  but  the  sighing  of  the  idle  wind. 

Mr.  Wharton  had  been  removed  from  the  circle  of  all 
those  rumors,  which  from  some  source,  not  generally  known, 
were  originated  and  spread  about,  all  tending  to  weaken  the 
confidence  of  his  friends,  and  perhaps,  upon  all  of  them,  ex 
erting  more  or  less  influence.  One  alone  remained  un 
shaken  ;  her  heart  had  never  wavered.  She  had  taken  his 
word  as  perfect  truth,  and  amid  all  the  dark  surmisings 
which  had  been  scattered  thickly  around  her,  she  retained 
her  confidence,  unshaded  by  a  single  doubt.  To  Mr.  Whar 
ton,  also,  for  reasons  above  stated,  he  appeared  but  as  the  vic 
tim  of  some  vile  plot ;  he  saw  no  dark  spot  upon  his  charac 
ter  ;  he  viewed  him  with  no  suspicious  eye,  as  many  did ; 
his  mind  had  never  been  affected  by  the  tongue  of  rumor. 

A  court  of  justice  is  a  serious  place  to  all  who  enter  it 
with  interests  of  importance  depending  upon  its  decision ; 
whether  these  interests  are  of  a  pecuniary  nature,  or  involve, 
what  is  of  infinitely  greater  moment,  the  loss  or  gain  of 
character.  To  the  judge  and  to  the  jurors  whose  decision  is 
to  affect  a  fellow  being,  perhaps,  for  the  remainder  of  his 
days  on  earth,  it  is  doubtless  a  cause  for  much  anxiety ;  for 
no  man,  whose  heart  has  not  become  callous  to  the  sympa- 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  145 

thies  of  our  nature,  can  sit  as  an  arbiter  upon  his  brother's 
fate,  without  some  fear  lest,  after  all,  his  decision  may  not 
be  according  to  truth,  and  his  fiat  consign  an  innocent  suf 
ferer  to  eternal  ignominy.  But  beyond  these,  it  may  not 
be  ill-natured,  nor  unjust  to  say,  there  is  but  little  feeling. 
The  lawyer,  indeed,  acts  well  his  part ;  his  serious  look,  his 
earnest  words,  his  animating  questions,  and,  sometimes,  even 
his  falling  tear,  answer  their  end,  and  almost  cause  the  look 
ers  on  to  believe,  that  where  there  is  such  a  blaze,  there 
must  be  heat ;  where  there  is  such  an  expression  of  truthful 
ness,  the  reality  must  be  somewhere  at  hand.  But,  alas  ! 
the  look,  the  words,  the  gestures,  and  the  t§p,r,  are  often,  far 
too  often,  but  the  actor's  tinsel  dress,  thrown  aside  with  dis 
gust  when  his  hireling  work  is  done.  Beyond  the  bar,  too, 
where  the  multitude  assemble  day  by  day,  and  feed  their 
polluted  appetite,  how  the  heart  sickens  to  behold  the  motley 
throng  gathering  on  the  long  benches,  and  stretching  their 
eager  necks  forward  to  catch  the  dainty  treat.  The  unmean 
ing  stare,  the  prying  look  of  curiosity,  and  the  heartless 
smile,  all  meet  the  eye,  and  almost  shame  us  as  we  own  them 
for  our  fellows. 

At  the  hour  appointed  for  the  opening  of  the  court, 
James  entered,  accompanied  by  Mr.  Wharton,  and  took  his 
seat.  Every  eye  was  at  once  fixed  upon  him.  and  few,  who 
watched  his  composed  look,  his  gentlemanly  demeanor,  and 
his  open,  manly  countenance,  could  spy  those  secret,  sin 
ister  marks,  which  are  so  often  said  to  lurk  about  those  linea 
ments  which  characterize  the  man  and  distinguish  the  rogue, 
even  through  all  his  disguises.  A  few  moments  after  the 
prisoner  entered,  the  judge  took  his  seat,  and  the  prelimina 
ries  of  opening  the  court,  empannelling  the  jurors,  &c.,  took 
place ;  when  the  distriet  attorney  at  once  arose  and  stated 
to  the  court  and  jury  in  a  plain,  simple,  straighforward  man 
ner,  the  grounds  upon  which  the  indictment  had  been  made 
out,  which  brought  this  young  man  before  them  as  a  pri 
soner. 

He  told  over  the  circumstances  of  the  loss  which  Mr. 
Hunt  had  met  with,  and  the  reasons  for  believing  the  pri 
soner  guilty 

"  And  I  expect  to  prove  to  you,  gentlemen  of  the  jury, 
the  different  circumstances  just  related,  in  so  clear  a  man- 
7 


146  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

ner,  that  I  think  you  will  be  forced  to  the  conviction  that  the 
prisoner  is  guilty." 

He  then  sat  down  and  commenced  calling  the  witnesses. 
Mr.  Gerardus  Hunt  was  first  sworn  and  examined.  He  tes 
tified  to  the  fact  of  his  having  deposited  the  money  in  the 
chest ;  of  his  knowing  it  to  be  there  for  some  time  subse 
quent  ;  that  on  the  morning  of November  last,  on  search 
ing  for  the  same,  it  was  not  to  be  found ;  also  as  to  the  cir 
cumstance  of  a  strange  key  being  found  in  the  door  of  the 
room  where  the  chest  was  kept.  "  And  I  wish  you,  gentle 
men  of  the  jury,  to  bear  this  circumstance  in  mind,  for  I 
shall  prove  to  J*u  by  another  witness,  that  this  key  belonged 
to  a  closet  in  the  room  where  the  prisoner  slept." 

He  then  examined  him  as  to  the  key  of  the  iron  chest, 
where  he  kept  it,  the  peculiar  construction  of  the  key,  &c., 
and  then  showing  it  to  the  jury:  "  There,  gentlemen,  is  a 
curiosity,  and  I  will  venture  to  say,  not  one  of  you  has  ever 
seen  its  mate  or  any  thing  like  it."  The  jury  examined  it 
with  care,  put  one  or  two  questions  to  the  witness,  and  seem 
ingly  satisfied  themselves  that  it  was  rather  unique,  and  not 
likely  to  have  a  counterpart  in  the  city.  The  witness  was 
then  turned  over  to  the  opposing  counsel. 

"  Mr.  Hunt,  may  I  ask  you — I  believe  the  question  has 
been  put  to  you  already,  but  I  will  trouble  you  to  answer  it 
again — where  do  you  keep  the  key  of  this  chest  which  you 
think  has  been  robbed  ?" 

"  Where  do  I  keep  it,  sir  ?  why,  I  keep  it  in  a  closet  in 
my  bedroom." 

"  Very  well,  sir,  and  do  you  allow  any  one  but  yourself 
to  go  to  that  closet  ?" 

"  No,  sir ;  no  one  but  my  wife." 

."  Do  you  keep  the  key  of  that  closet,  Mr.  Hunt  ?' 

"  I  do,  sir,  in  the  general  way." 

"  In  the  general  way !  what  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  do 
you  mean  that  you  generally  keep  it  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  generally." 

"  You  acknowledge,  then,  Mr.  Hunt,  that  you  do  not  al 
ways  have  possession  of  this  key ;  may  I  ask,  who  besides 
you  has  it  at  times  ?" 

"  My  wife,  sir ;  no  one  but  my  wife." 

"  Then  I  understand  you  to  say,  Mr.  Hunt,  that  no  per- 


I 
TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  147 

son,  except  yourself  and  your  wife,  is  allowed,  for  any  cause, 
to  go  to  that  closet." 

u  That's  the  case,  sir." 

"  Please  speak  so  that  the  gentlemen  of  the  jury  can  hear 
you,  Mr.  Hunt." 

"  Yes,  it's  so,  sir ;"  in  a  loud  tone. 

"  That  you  and  Mrs.  Hunt  alone  go  to  that  closet." 

«  Yes." 

"  And  do  you  really  suppose,  Mr.  Hunt — now  I  wish  you 
to  remember,  sir,  that  you  are  under  oath — are  you  willing 
here  solemnly  to  swear,  that  this  money  was  forcibly,  or  in 
a  secret  manner  taken  from  your  chest  ?"  ^.- 

The  witness  was  somewhat  confused. 

"Why,  sir,  I  can  swear  that  I  put  the  money  into  the 
chest,  and  that  when  I  went  to  look  for  it,  it  was  gone ;  but 
how  it  went  it  is  not  in  my  power  to  say." 

"  That  will  do,  sir." 

"  Mr.  Hunt,"  said  the  senior  counsel  of  Edwards,  "  have 
you  had  any  reason  to  suspect  the  prisoner  as  a  person  who 
could  be  guilty  of  such  an  act,  previous  to  the  time  when  the 
money  was  found  in  his  trunk?" 

"  No,  sir,  not  the  least  in  the  world." 

«  That  is  all,  sir." 

"  The  witness  may  take  his  seat,"  said  the  judge ;  "  call 
your  next  witness." 

Mrs.  Hunt  next  took  the  stand,  and  was  particularly  ex 
amined  as  to  the  habits  of  herself  and  husband  in  regard  to 
the  keeping  of  the  keys,  and  many  things  were  elicited  be 
fore  the  jury  ,which  satisfied  them,  that  although  they  kept 
the  key  of  the  closet  with  much  safety,  still  there  were  other 
keys  in  the  house  which  would  open  it.  and  that  a  member 
of  the  family,  if  so  disposed,  might  have  access  to  the  closet. 

The  countenance  of  Theodore  lighted  up  as  this  witness 
retired,  as  though  he  could  see  an  opening  by  which  an  ob 
ject  might  be  accomplished  favorable  to  his  client. 

The  niece  of  Mr.  Hunt,  Miss  Sarah  Pearsall,  was  next 
called,  and  as  she  advanced  to  the  stand,  every  eye  was 
drawn  towards  her  with  deep  interest.  Some  were  attracted 
by  a  knowledge  of  the  fact  that  she  was  so  deeply  concerned 
in  the  fate  of  Edwards,  and  others,  by  the  grace  of  her 
movement  and  the  beauty  of  her  countenance.  There  are 


148  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

few  faces  that  are  not  much  improved  when  the  mind  is  ab 
sorbed  by  some  controlling  feeling ;  but  to  a  countenance 
like  that  of  Sarah's,  it  was  the  one  thing  wanted  to  give  sur 
passing  richness  to  her  beauty.  -Never,  in  her  brightest 
hour,  when  sunshine  played  around  her.  and  the  light  smile 
of  happiness  continually  rested  on  her  features,  did  she  ap 
pear  so  lovely  as  when,  laying  her  hat  upon  the  seat,  she 
walked  to  the  witness's  stand.  She  was  dressed  with  much 
neatness,  but  without  the  least  attempt  at  show,  and  was 
evidently  too  much  concerned  in  what  might  be  the  end  of 
the  investigation,  to  heed  the  public  gaze  then  resting  upon 
her. 

The  questions  put  to  her  by  the  District  Attorney,  did 
not  seem  to  be  of  much  consequence  ;  he  evidently  did  not 
feel  called  upon  to  allow  his  duty  as  a  lawyer,  to  control  the 
feelings  of  the  gentleman ;  but,  perhaps,  he  knew  that  evi 
dence  of  a  more  direct  kind  was  yet  forthcoming,  and  he 
could  afford  to  give  as  little  trouble  as  possible  to  one  whose 
whole  demeanor  was  shaded  by  a  cast  of  sorrow.  As  so  few 
questions  were  asked  by  the  prosecuting  counsel,  it  was  not 
supposed  that  any  cross-examination  would  be  made,  but  as 
she  turned  to  leave  the  stand,  the  junior  counsel  of  defend 
ant  rose. 

"  May  I  ask  you,  Miss,  a  few  questions  ?  I  will  endeavor 
not  to  detain  you  long." 

(' Certainly,  sir."  And  as- she  cast  her  eye  in  the  direc 
tion  of  her  questioner,  it  met  that  of  her  cousin  Ru'dolph, 
who  had  just  entered  and  taken  a  seat  among  the  witnesses. 
He  was  very  pale,  and  evidently,  did  not  feel  at  ease ;  per 
haps  the  unexpected  order  he  had  received  to  be  present  was 
not  agreeable  ;  it  had  not  been  his  design  to  witness  the  trial ; 
and  he  had  also  understood,  that  he  had  been  subpoenaed  by 
the  counsel  for  Edwards.  Whether  Sarah  noticed  any  thing 
peculiar  in  the  countenance  of  her  cousin,  that  caused  her 
to  rest  her  eye  upon  him,  I  cannot  say ;  but  she  did  fix  it, 
with  an  earnestness,  before  which  his  eye  immediately  fell, 
and  as  he  saw  that  others  were  attracted  by  her  gaze,  his 
confusion  was  very  manifest. 

"  May  I  ask  you,  Miss  Pearsall,  in  reference  to  visitors 
at  the  house  of  your  uncle?  You  have  lived  many  years  in 
his  family,  I  believe  ?" 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  149 

"  Yes,  sir,  from  my  childhood." 

"  You  have  frequent  visitors,  doubtless,  at  your  uncle's  ? 
Are  there  not  some  who  are  very  much  at  home  in  the 
family  ?" 

"  There  are,  sir,  certainly,"  and  her  eye  again  rested  on 
Rudolph. 

;'  Some  of  these  have  access  to  all  parts  of  the  house ; 
are  in  fact  almost  members  of  the  family  ?" 

"  If  your  honor  pleases,"  said  the  District  Attorney, 
rising  in  haste?  and  looking  at  the  Judge,  u  I  object  to  that 
question." 

"  Mr.  Berry,"  said  the  Judge,  "  what  do  you  wish  to 
establish  by  these  questions  ?" 

"  May  it  please  your  Honor,"  said  Theodore  rising,  with 
much  animation,  and  speaking  with  a  confidence  that  he  had 
not  hitherto  assumed,  "  there  is  a  deep  mystery  about  this 
unhappy  transaction,  and  I  wish  to  expose  to  your  Honor 
and  to  these  gentlemen,  some  of  the  secrets  of  this  family. 
I  believe  your  Honor  will  instruct  these  gentlemen,  that  if 
a  reasonable  doubt  exists  in  their  minds  as  to  the  guilt  of 
my  client,  that  doubt  should  be  resolved  in  his  favor.  I 
wish  to  prove  to  your  Honor  and  to  these  gentlemen,  that 
there  were  those,  who,  by  intimacy  with  this  family,  might 
avail  themselves  of  access  to  all  its  privacies  with  even  more 
assurance  than  my  client,  and  if  I  can  also  show  a  motive,  a 
detestable  motive,  to  be  sure,  and  one  which,  if  proved,  must 
consign  its  subject  to  eternal  infamy ;  if  I  can  prove — " 

"  Have  you  any  proof  direct,  Mr.  Berry,  that  will  go  to 
establish  the  fact  as  to  who  it  was  that  perpetrated  the  act 
charged  against  the  prisoner  ?" 

"  Not  direct,  your  Honor,  but — " 

"  It  will  not  answer,  sir,  however  assured  your  own  mind 
may  be  on  the  subject.  All  the  evidence  hitherto  is  against 
the  prisoner ;  if  you  have  any  counter-evidence  to  prove  that 
he  did  not,  or  could  not  have  done  it,  you  may  bring  that 
forward ;  but  it  would  not  be  allowable  to  raise  a  mere  sus 
picion  against  an  individual  not  on  trial,  and  of  course  not 
able  to  defend  himself." 

'•  May  it  please  your  Honor,  and  with  all  due  deference 
to  the  decision  of  the  court,  still,  the  evidence  against  us  is 
as  yet  but  circumstantial.  I  acknowledge,  indeed,  that  as 


150  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

such,  it  bears  strongly  against  my  client,  and  unless  its  force 
can  be  broken,  will  go  far  with  an  impartial  jury  to  compel 
a  verdict  against  him  ;  but  the  court  will  doubtless  remem 
ber  the  great  suit  reported  from  the  English  court — •  The 
Crown  versus  Jones,' — wherein  the  defendant  was  arraigned 
for  a  similar  offence,  and  the  money  was  found  upon  his 
person.  Yet  even  in  such  a  case,  the  court  allowed  testi 
mony  to  prove  a  motive  to  destroy  the  character,  and  bring 
terrible  evil  upon  the  defendant,  and  which,  finally,  resulted 
in  his  acquittal." 

"  The  case  to  which  the  counsel  refers  is  well  remember 
ed,  but  the  proofs  adduced  to  substantiate  the  charge  were 
direct  and  sufficiently  strong  to  prove  beyond  a  doubt  a  con 
spiracy  against  the  defendant.  If  I  understand  the  counsel, 
all  that  you  expect  to  prove  by  testimony,  is  an  evil  motive 
which  might,  by  possibility,  have  induced  an  attempt  upon 
the  character  of  the  prisoner." 

Theodore  took  his  seat. 

"  Your  next  witness,  gentlemen." 

The  District  Attorney  beckoned  to  Betty  to  take  her 
place ;  she  immediately  arose,  laid  aside  her  hat  and  came 
forward  with  an  elastic  step,  the  broad  frill  of  her  decent 
looking  cap  flying  back  as  she  walked,  and  her  face  redden 
ing  like  a  true  daughter  of  Erin. 

"  What  is  your  name,  my  good  woman  ?" 

"Betty,  sir,  is  my  name." 

"  What  else  ?  that's  not  all  your  name,  is  it  ?" 

"  It's  all  that's  nadeful ;  I'll  answer  to  it  any  day." 

"  But  we  want  the  whole  of  your  name ;  you  were  not 
christened  Betty,  were  you  ?" 

"  That's  more  nor  I  can  say,  sir,  you  must  ax  them  as 
knows." 

"  My  good  woman,"  said  the  Judge,  "  we  want  your  name 
just  as  you  sign  it." 

"  Please  your  Honor,  and  that's  what  I  never  did  in  my 
life ;  I  jist  makes  a  bit  of  a  cross,  and  that's  the  end  of  it. 
But,  sir,  niy  name  is  Manahan,  Elizabeth  Manahan.  or 
Betsey  Manahan,  or  Betty ;  but  Betty's  good  enough,  and 
it's  the  most  convanient  to  me." 

"  Well,  Betty,  how  long  have  you  lived  in  the  family  of 
Mr.  Hunt?" 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  151 

"  Eight  years  coming  next  Christmas,  and  it's  truth." 

"  Then  you  have  been  there  all  the  time  that  Mr.  Ed 
wards  was  in  the  family  ?" 
'  "  It's  true,  sir,  I  have." 

"  Did  you  see  much  of  him  ?" 

"  Did  I  see  him  ?  I  seed  him  every  day ;  how  could  I  be 
living  there,  and  not  see  him  ?" 

"  "Well,  did  he  go  much  about  the  house  ?  Was  he  not 
occasionally  in  different  parts  of  the  house  ?" 

"  I  can't  say  but  he  was." 

"  You  mean  by  that,  that  he  did  go  into  the  different 
rooms,  sometimes  into  the  parlor,  sometimes  into  the  kitchen, 
and  sometimes  into  the  bedrooms,  or  closets,  just  as  any 
member  of  the  family  might  do  ?" 

"  Upon  the  life  of  me.  if  I  can  just  say  that  I  ever  seed 
him  as  your  Honor  says,  in  the  bedrooms  and  the  closets  ; 
no,  no,  I'll  tell  you  the  truth.  He  would  sometimes  jist  as 
he  was  passing  the  kitchen  door,  put  his  head  in  and  say 
'good  mornin,  Betty,'  or  'good  evenin,  Betty,'  for  I'll  say  it 
afore  his  face  and  behind  his  back,  that  a  real  gintleman  he 
was.  and  not  afeared  to  spake  to  a  puir  body,  be  they  black 
or  white." 

"Well,  Betty,  you  remember  the  circumstance  of  Mr. 
Edwards'  key,  or  the  key  of  his  room  being  found  in  the 
door  of  the  vault  ?" 

« I  do,  sir." 

"  You  are  sure  that  it  was  the  key  of  his  closet  ?" 

{t  Ah,  sir  !"  heaving  a  sigh  ;  "  it  was  even  so." 

"  And  how  do  you  account  for  its  being  there?" 

"  That  I  don't  know,  sir ;  it's  past  my  comprehension." 

"  But  you  saw  the  key  there,  and  knew  the  key  to  belong 
to  the  closet  in  Mr.  Edwards'  room  ?" 

"  Yes  sir,  I  know  the  key  well." 

"Is  this  the  key.  Betty?"  handing  her  a  small  key; 
Betty  examined  it,  and  handing  it  back, 

';  It's  the  very  same,  sir,  and  there  is  the  very  mark  he 
made  on  it  wid  his  own  hand ;"  and  then,  as  requested,  she 
told  the  whole  story,  which  she  had  related  at  the  apprehen 
sion  of  Edwards  ;  the  account  she  gave  of  the  affair  seemed 
to  affect  the  Judge  and  the  jury  rather  unfavorably  towards 
Edwards,  and  his  counsel  felt  that,  if  possible,  some  effort 


152  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

must  be  made  to  counteract  it,  for  Betty,  by  her  strong  sym 
pathy  for  James,  manifested  in  her  sighs  and  ejaculations, 
left  a  decided  impression  of  her  fears  that  all  was  not  right, 
and  as  soon  as  the  District  Attorney  signified  that  he  was 
through  with  the  witness,  "Betty,"  said  Theodore,  "you 
would  not  wish  the  court  to  understand  that  you  supposed 
Mr.  Edwards  had  any  hand  in  opening  the  vault  door  with 
the  key?" 

"  Oh  bless  your  soul !"  lifting  up  both  her  hands  at  the 
same  time,  "  it's  the  furtherest  from  my  thoughts  ;  that  it  is 
— no,  no,  I'd  cut  my  tongue  off  first." 

"  Well,  Betty,  I  did  not  believe  you  thought  so,  only  I 
wished  to  let  these  gentlemen  know,  that  you  did  not  think 
so." 

"  If  it's  my  mind  that  they're  wanting.  I'll  give  it  and 
fear  nobody." 

"  We  don't  wish  your  opinion,  my  good  woman,"  said  the 
Judge  ;  "  Mr.  Berry,  if  you  have  no  more  questions  to  put  to 
the  witness,  she  may  take  her  seat." 

"  You  may  take  your  seat,  Betty" — and  Betty  marched 
back  in  the  same  quick  time  with  which  she  had  come  to  the 
stand.  As  the  officer  who  had  apprehended  Edwards  was 
not  able  to  be  present,  his  affidavit  was  read,  stating  in  a 
clear,  concise  manner,  the  whole  scene  which  transpired  at 
the  time  of  his  being  arrested,  and  it  was  truly  unfortunate 
for  James,  that  he  had  manifested  any  reluctance  to  having 
his  trunk  examined.  It  told,  evidently,  a  very  bad  story  to 
the  minds  of  the  jurors. 

The  testimony  for  the  prosecution  now  closed,  and  Mr. 
Berry  arose  immediately  to  open  his  case. 

He  stated  in  very  simple  and  plain  terms  the  peculiar 
difficulties  attending  the  cause  which  he  had  undertaken  to 
defend  ;  he  acknowledged,  frankly,  that  the  testimony  which 
had  been  brought  forward,  and  which  he  had  no  doubt  was 
true  testimony,  so  far  as  it  went,  was  very  much  against  his 
client ;  but  the  jury  would  bear  in  mind  that,  after  all,  it 
was  circumstantial.  "  And  I  am  free  to  acknowledge,  that 
there  are  cases  where  this  species  of  evidence,  when  its  com 
binations  are  complete,  forms  the  strongest  of  all  proofs,  and 
proclaims  with  its  mute  tongue  the  guilt  of  him  upon  whom 
it  bears,  as  truly  and  as  eloquently  as  the  heavens  above  us 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  153 

and  the  creation  around  us  proclaim  the  hand  that  made 
them.  But  it  is,  also,  a  species  of  evidence  that  may  be 
brought  to  bear  upon  the  innocent,  as  well  as  the  guilty.  If 
there  be  within  the  social  circle  of  any  man,  a  being  vile 
enough  to  plot  his  ruin,  it  wants  but  a  little  artifice,  to  weave 
a  net  from  whose  toils  the  purest  reputation  may  not  free 
him.  Within  the  meshes  of  such  a  snare,  do  I  most  firmly 
believe  the  prisoner  has  been  caught,  and  he  stands  now  be 
fore  you,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  almost  a  helpless  victim. 
He  has  no  power  to  solve  the  mystery,  or  explain  away  the 
circumstances  that  testify  against  him.  All  he  can  do  is  to 
prove  to  you,  beyond  the  shadow  of  a  doubt,  the  purity  of 
his  life,  and  that,  until  the  fatal  hour  when  this  catastrophe 
was  developed,  not  a  stain  rested  upon  his  noble,  generous, 
faithful  character  ;  and  when  we  have  exhibited  before  you, 
gentlemen,  undoubted  proofs  of  what  we  assert,  surely  you 
will  hesitate  before  you  consign  to  infamy,  upon  the  grounds 
of  such  evidence,  one  whose  path  has  hitherto  been  so  spot 
less." 

The  first  witness  called  on  the  part  of  the  defence,  was  the 
Kev.  Mr.  Wharton,  and  as  he  arose,  and  walked  to  the  stand, 
and  bowed  respectfully  to  the  whole  court,  there  was  an  in 
voluntary  return  of  the  obeisance  from  the  judge,  the  jury, 
and  the  bar.  He  was  dressed  with  more  than  usual  care,  and 
this,  added  to  his  manly  form,  his  calm  and  dignified  expres 
sion  of  countenance  and  courtly  manners,  was  well  calculated 
to  excite  feelings  of  reverence  and  respect.  Without  much 
questioning,  the  Rev.  gentleman  was  requested  by  the  judge 
to  say  what  he  knew  of  the  young  man,  now  the  prisoner  at 
the  bar;  and  he  did  so  in  a  clear  and  impressive  manner; 
each  word  was  articulated  with  a  distinctness  that  could  not 
fail  to  reach  every  listener  in  the  vast  room ;  a  decided  im 
pression  was  made  upon  the  feelings  of  the  jurors,  and  one 
could  almost  read  in  their  strained  countenances,  the  desire 
for  some  testimony  that  would  enable  them,  with  a  clear  con 
science,  to  place  the  young  man  again  where  he  had  once 
stood,  and  restore  him  to  the  hearts  that  were  bleeding 
for  him.  But  alas  !  justice,  in  her  impartial  decisions,  can 
not  compromise  the  right  to  the  yearnings  of  human  sym 
pathy. 

The  district  attorney,  doubtless,  noticed  the  effect  pro- 
7* 


154  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

duced  by  this  witness,  and  felt  it  to  be  his  duty  to  allay  the 
excitement. 

'•  If  the  other  gentlemen  are  through  with  the  witness,  I 
would  merely  inquire,  sir.  whether  what  you  state  of  the  char 
acter  and  conduct  of  the  prisoner  has  come  from  your  own 
personal  knowledge,  or  by  hearsay  ?" 

"  Undoubtedly,  sir,  much  of  the  information  I  have  given 
has  been  derived  from  others,  but  from  such  sources,  as 
leave  not  a  shadow  of  doubt  on  my  own  mind  of  its  perfect 
truth." 

"  Certainly,  sir ;  we  are  fully  assured,  Mr.  Wharton,  that 
you  have  testified  to  what  you  believed  to  be  facts  ;  but  is 
there  no  possibility  that  you  may  have  been  deceived  ?" 

"  I  can  conceive  of  none,  sir." 

"  Well,  sir,  allowing  the  representations,  which  you  have 
just  made  to  be  as  you  think  they  are,  still,  you  know  no 
thing  of  the  habits  of  the  young  man  while  in  this  city  ?" 

"  I  do  not,  sir  ;  I  could  only  take  them  for  granted." 

"  Exactly  so." 

"  We  are  prepared  on  that  point,  Mr.  Attorney,"  said 
Theodore,  rising,  "  we  can  prove  his  character  here,  sir, 
abundantly." 

"  Mr.  Wharton  may  take  his  seat ;"  and  he  retired  with 
the  same  dignity  and  grace,  bowing  to  the  court,  and  receiv 
ing  the  salutation  of  the  judge,  who,  in  grace  of  manner, 
dress,  and  personal  bearing,  was  evidently  a  pupil  of  the 
same  school. 

The  other  witnesses  were  then  called  in  turn  to  the 
stand  ;  they  were  the  two  Messrs.  Hunt,  Mrs.  Hunt,  and  final 
ly,  Mr.  Berry,  his  junior  counsel.  The  testimony  related,  al 
most  exclusively,  to  his  habits  and  deportment,  and  was  de 
cidedly  favorable.  Rudolph  Hunt  had  been  subpoenaed  by 
the  counsel  for  Edwards,  with  the  hope  that  such  latitude 
might  possibly  be  given  by  the  court,  in  the  examination  of 
witnesses,  as  might  have  made  his  testimony,  on  some  points, 
of  consequence. 

But  as  the  result  then  stood,  there  seemed  no  opening 
whereby  his  testimony  could  be  made  to  bear  favorably  on 
the  cause  of  Edwards.  All  eyes  were  now  directed  to  the 
counsel  for  the  prisoner,  who  were  in  close  consultation. 
There  was  evidently  strong  sympathy  excited  for  the  young 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  155 

man,  but  mingled  with  sad  forbodings  of  his  fate ;  still,  how 
ever,  a  hope  remained  that  his  counsel  had  in  reserve  some 
expedient  that  might  turn  to  his  account.  This  hope  was 
soon  at  an  end ;  in  a  few  moments  Mr.  Berry  arose  and  bow 
ing  to  the  judge. 

"  May  it  please  the  court,  we  rest  our  cause." 

There  was  a  sudden  hush  throughout  the  assembly,  and 
every  eye  was  fixed  upon  the  young  man,  who  now  stood 
forth  to  make  his  last  effort  for  one  whom  he  had  undertaken 
to  serve,  not  only  as  a  counsellor,  but  as  a  friend  ;  the  strong 
emotions  which  his  countenance  betrayed,  the  solemn,  mea 
sured  tones,  with  which  his  exordium  was  spoken,  plainly  told 
that  he  felt  the  responsibility  of  his  situation,  and  the  value  of 
the  interest  for  which  he  was  about  to  plead.  He  recapitu 
lated  in  brief,  the  account  which  had  been  given  of  the  affair, 
just  as  the  testimony  had  declared  it  to  be.  He  denied 
nothing.  He  then  went  on  with  the  history  of  young  Ed 
wards,  touched  with  most  feeling,  burning  interest  on  some 
of  the  leading  points  of  his  life,  told  them  of  his  filial  piety, 
of  his  untiring  diligence  in  the  discharge  of  duties,  and  his 
spotless  reputation. 

He  then  adverted  to  the  circumstance  which  had  brought 
him  before  them  as  a  criminal. 

"  To  you.  gentlemen,  it  is  unaccountable ;  an  inconceiva 
ble  mystery  hangs  over  and  around  it ;  and  I  doubt  not  that 
each  one  of  you,  upon  whose  judgment  depends  the  future 
weal  or  woe  of  my  unfortunate  client,  would,  from  your 
hearts,  rejoice  if  the  veil  could  be  removed,  and  the  dark 
deed  so  exposed  that  its  perpetrator  should  stand  before  you 
in  all  his  odiousness. 

"  Doubts,  I  know,  rest  upon  your  minds,  and  your  judg 
ment  lingers  to  reach  the  painful  conclusion,  to  which,  in  all 
honesty  and  truthfulness  I  must  say,  the  testimony  would 
lead  you. 

"  I  wish  I  could  lift  up  this  veil,  and  show  you  what  my 
own  eyes  so  clearly  see.  I  wish  I  might  be  allowed  to  say 
to  you  all  what  I  believe  to  be  as  true,  as  that  the  sun  shines 
in  yonder  heavens,  in  reference  to  this  unhappy  business ; 
but  I  have  no  testimony,  that  will  be  allowed  in  a  court  of 
justice,  to  substantiate  what  I  might  say.  and  here  the  truth 
itself  can  have  no  hearing,  but  through  her  witnesses.  But, 


156  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

gentlemen,  there  are  strange  scenes  acting  in  this  world  of 
ours.  They  are  forced  upon  our  notice  in  our  daily  round 
of  life.  Have  not  each  of  you,  gentlemen,  witnessed  cases 
where  some  poor  sufferer  was  obtruded  upon  your  notice,  his 
wrongs  touched  your  heart,  and  your  understanding  con 
vinced  you,  that  he,  who  caused  the  wrong,  was  well  known 
through  all  the  disguises  which  he  had  assumed.  You  could 
point  your  finger  at  him,  and  say,  '  Thou  art  the  man ;'  but 
you  might  not  be  able  to  bring  such  testimony  to  sustain 
your  consciousness,  as  would  be  allowed  in  a  tribunal  of 
justice.  And  now,  gentlemen  of  the  jury  and  this  honor 
able  court,  bear  with  me  for  a  moment,  while  I  repeat  a 
story  full  of  deep  meaning,  and  in  my  humble  judgment,  in 
no  obscure  manner,  illustrating  the  very  point  which  I  wish, 
in  all  the  solemnity  which  the  momentous  issues  of  this 
case  demand,  to  press  upou  you,  who  have  its  decision  in 
your  hands. 

"  In  this  city  lived  a  young  man  of  pure  and  noble  mind ; 
he  was  destitute  of  what  the  world  calls  wealth,  but  he  was 
rich  in  the  qualities  of  a  generous  heart,  and  in  the  posses 
sion  of  mental  abilities,  and  those  personal  attractions,  which 
combine  to  throw  around  their  possessor  charms  which  make 
their  way  to  every  heart.  His  days  were  devoted  to  the 
faithful  discharge  of  those  duties,  which  he  owed  to  em 
ployers,  to  whom  he  felt  bound  by  strong  obligations,  and 
his  evenings  to  the  cultivation  of  an  active  mind.  Within 
the  domestic  circle,  which  he  called  his  home,  was  one  whose 
attractions  of  mind  and  person  were  the  thfcme  of  all  who 
knew  her.  As  kindred  elements,  when  brought  in  contact, 
coalesce  and  mingle  according  to  the  harmonies  of  nature, 
these  spirits  blended  their  beautiful  sympathies,  and  rested 
happy  in  each  other's  love. 

"  Within  the  same  circle  was  one,  not  devoid  of  external 
graces,  nor  of  many  collateral  advantages.  He  was  in  a  fair 
and  prosperous  business ;  and  before  him  arose  the  prospect 
of  almost  certain  wealth.  He  had,  too,  a  cultivated  mind 
and  winning  manners,  but  he  wanted  an  honest  heart.  Those 
warm  affections,  which  fire  the  soul  with  its  purest  ardor, 
he  knew  nothing  of.  Virtue  and  loveliness  had  no  charms 
for  him. 

"  With  the  spirit  of  him  who  viewed  our  happy  parents 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  157 

in  their  new  and  blissful  home,  and  planned  their  ruin,  he 
cast  an  evil  eye  upon  this  youthful  pair.  No  outward  signs 
had  yet  been  given  that  their  affections  were  united,  and 
even  to  themselves,  it  was  unknown.  He  saw,  or  thought 
he  saw,  the  growing  union,  and  every  selfish  passion  was 
aroused.  A  lovely  being  whom,  for  her  own  sake,  he  had 
never  cared  for,  became  to  his  covetous  eye  a  prize  of  untold 
value,  when  likely  to  be  wrested  from  his  grasp.  His  plan 
was  quickly  laid.  No  compassion  for  one  who  had  ever 
been  to  him  as  a  friend,  could  stay  for  a  moment  the  cursed 
design.  A  blasted  reputation  is  a  fair  substitute  for  the 
assassin's  dagger  ;  and  with  all  the  hellish  art  of  him  he 
served,  around  this  unsuspecting  youth,  he  wove  a  net  of 
cruel  cords,  and  saw  with  all  the  coldness  of  an  icy  heart, 
his  victim  fall  a  prey.  Gentlemen,  I  see  you  doubt  the 
truth  of  what  I  tell  you ;  you  doubt  that,  in  our  midst,  a 
being  can  be  found,  so  like  a  demon  of  the  pit.  But  stay 
your  judgment ;  I  have  a  sequel  to  relate — no  fiction  of  the 
brain,  no  spurious  child  of  an  excited  imagination — but 
truth  in  all  its  sad  reality. 

';  There  is  now  lying  on  a  bed  of  death,  in  hourly  ex 
pectation  of  the  final  summons,  a  lovely  female,  the  ward  of 
an  honest  and  industrious  mechanic,  trained  in  principles  of 
strictest  virtue,  and  with  a  mind  spotless  as  the  purest  of 
her  sex.  f  She  was  in  the  heyday  of  youth  and  health,  and 
possessecrof  more  than  an  ordinary  share  of  personal  attrac 
tions.  This  monster  came  across  her  humble  path.  He  in 
gratiated  himself  into  her  favor  by  months  and  even  years 
of  attention.  He  won  her  heart,  and  then,  when  in  all  its 
honest  purity,  it  rested  on  his  honor,  he  mocked  its  sacred 
affections,  laughed  to  scorn  its  virtue  and  its  truth,  and  be 
cause  he  could  not  break  through  the  strong  barrier  which 
these  had  built  around  her,  left  her — left  her — with  her 
young  affections  crushed  and  dead." 

As  the  speaker  uttered  this  last  sentence,  he  fixed  his 
flashing  eye  full  upon  Rudolph  Hunt.  Pale  as  though  the 
life-blood  had  for  ever  fled,  Rudolph  started  to  his  feet.  A 
buzz  of  astonishment  swept  over  the  assembly,  immediately 
followed  by  the  hoarse  voice  of  the  high  constable  calling 
out, 

"  Silence  in  the  court." 


158  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

Turning  his  bright  eye  at  once  upon  the  jurors,  and 
without  in  the  least  noticing  the  extraordinary  movement  on 
the  part  of  Rudolph,  Theodore  continued  in  the  same  tone 
of  voice.  "  Yes — crushed  and  broken-hearted,  she  now  lies 
upon  the  bed  of  death ;  and  do  you  now  doubt,  gentlemen, 
that  he,  who  could  thus  trample  on  virtue  and  loveliness,  in 
the  purest  and  brightest  form  in  which  the  eye  of  man  can 
look  upon  it,  would  hesitate  to  blast  the  reputation  of  his 
fellow,  when  it  should  suit  his  ends?" 

The  speaker  paused  and  fixed  his  eye  a  moment  on  the 
jury,  and  then  sat  down.  He  had  not  said  all  that  he  de 
signed  to  say,  and  to  the  assembly  it  was  doubtless  matter 
of  surprise  that  he  had  so  abruptly  ceased ;  but  he  knew 
that  the  only  hope  which  remained  for  his  friend  was  the 
creation  of  a  serious  doubt  in  the  minds  of  the  jury.  He 
felt  assured  that  such  a  crisis  had  occurred. 

Scarcely  had  he  taken  his  seat,  when  Mr.  Catchem 
entered,  pale  as  he  could  very  well  be,  for  he  was  just  from 
a  bed  of  sickness.  As  he  opened  the  little  gate  into  the 
arena  of  the  bar,  he  turned  and  admitted  two  persons  who 
had  followed  him  through  the  court  room,  and  gave  them 
each  a  seat  by  the  side  of  the  witnesses.  The  female  was 
young  and  not  ill-looking;  there  was  an  agreeable  expression 
to  her  countenance,  although  it  was  evident  that  she  had 
either  been  confined  by  sickness  in  her  own  person,  or  from 
watching  at  the  sick-bed  of  another.  As  the  witnesses  cast 
their  eyes  upon  the  strangers,  Betty,  involuntarily  clasped 
her  hands  and  rolled  her  eyes  up ;  she  would,  undoubtedly, 
have  made  an  exclamation,  if  the  fear  of  the  court  bad  not 
been  upon  her.  It  was  the  young  woman  who  once  caused 
her  so  much  uneasiness  in  her  inquiries  for  Mr.  Edwards. 
Sarah  recognized  her  as  Lydia,  the  friend  of  Gritty,  and 
whose  untiring  attendance  upon  the  dying  one  caused  her 
present  sickly  appearance. 

The  man  who  took  his  seat  near  her,  was  also  one  whom 
we  have  seen  before  :  but  we  should  hardly  recognize,  in  his 
Sunday  suit,  our  friend  the  locksmith.  This  dress  had  no 
doubt  once  been  in  the  fashion  of  its  day,  but  what  day  it 
would  be  difficult  to  determine ;  probably  he  had  worn  it  as 
his  best,  when  a  young  man  ;  it  had  much  too  youthful  an 
appearance  for  its  wearer  now.  As  he  sat  down  and  cast 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  159 

his  eyes  about,  no  one  could  well  say  to  whom  in  particular 
they  were  directed ;  they  took  a  wide  range,  and  were  in  no 
wise  dependent  upon  each  other.  One  person,  however,  was 
conscious  that  a  piercing  gaze  was  occasionally  fixed  upon 
him,  and  whenever  it  was,  he  manifested  signs  of  uneasiness. 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Catchem  had  given  seats  to  these  two 
individuals,  he  walked  up  to  the  District  Attorney  and  held 
converse  with  him ;  it  seemed  to  be  some  matter  of  much 
importance,  for  the  questions  and  answers  which  passed  be 
tween  them,  were  in  tones  and  gestures  of  great  earnestness. 

';  May  it  please  the  court,  we  have,  indeed,  rested  our 
cause  on  the  part  of  the  prosecution,  and  perhaps  sufficient 
testimony  has  already  been  adduced  to  prove  the  charge 
against  the  prisoner ;  but  as  satisfactory  proof  can  now  be 
given  to  identify  the  prisoner  with  a  transaction  that  has 
immediate  bearing  upon  the  case,  I  ask  leave  of  the  court 
for  further  examination  of  witnesses." 

"  Why  have  not  these  witnesses  been  obtained  at  an 
earlier  stage  of  the  trial  ?" 

"  I  will  state  the  reasons,  your  Honor.  The  officer  who 
arrested  the  prisoner,  became  possessed,  a  short  time  since, 
of  some  important  information  relative  to  this  matter,  and 
would  immediately  have  made  report  thereof,  that  proper 
steps  might  in  time  have  been  taken  to  procure  the  neces 
sary  testimony,  but  having  been  seized  with  sudden  illness, 
he  has  been  unable  to  attend  to  business,  and  has  only  now 
arisen  from  a  sick  bed  for  this  very  purpose." 

"  What  do  you  expect  to  prove,  sir,  by  these  witnesses  ?" 

"  I  expect  to  prove,  may  it  please  your  Honor,  that  just 
previous  to  the  time  when  this  robbery  took  place,  the  pris 
oner  at  the  bar  procured  a  key  to  be  made  of  a  very  pecu 
liar  construction,  and  in  a  manner  that  excited  the  suspicion 
of  him  whom  he  employed  to  make  it,  and  which  induced 
him  very  particularly  to  mark  the  prisoner,  whom  he  is  now 
prepared  to  identify  under  oath ;  and  I,  also,  by  another 
person  present,  am  prepared  not  only  to  confirm  the  testi 
mony  of  the  other  witness  as  to  the  identity  of  the  prisoner, 
she  having  seen  him  on  two  several  occasions  while  he  was 
procuring  the  manufacture  of  the  key.  but  furthermore  to 
testify  against  his  character  as  base  and  worthless." 

The  counsel  for  the  prisoner  at  once  were  engaged  in 


160  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

earnest  converse  with  him,  during  which  Edwards  was  evi 
dently  much  agitated.  The  junior  counsel  then  arose  : 

"  May  it  please  the  court,  we  would  make  no  objection  to 
the  introduction  of  these  witnesses  ;  singular  and  unexpected 
as  are  the  circumstances,  we  do  not  object." 

Theodore  sat  down  and  felt  that  all  was  lost. 

"  Let  the  witnesses  be  sworn."  The  old  man  arose  and 
took  the  usual  oath. 

"  He  had  been  applied  to  about  a  month  since  to  make  a 
key  of  a  particular  construction,  and  all  he  had  to  make  it 
from  was  a  piece  of  dough ;  that  some  excuse  was  made  why 
the  key  was  needed,  but  he  did  not  heed  it ;  he  thought  like 
as  not  there  was  something  wrong,  but  he  did  not  know ;  he 
made  a  great  many  keys,  sometimes  they  were  made  a  good 
use  of,  and  sometimes  they  warnt."  The  District  Attorney 
then  handed  him  the  key  of  the  chest. 

"  Is  that  the  key  you  made  ?" 

"  The  key  I  made  will  unlock  the  door  that  this  key  will 
unlock,  but  that  is  not  the  key  I  made.  No,  sir,  I  always 
put  my  mark  on  the  keys  I  make." 

"  You  are  very  sure,  however,  that  it  was  of  this  pattern  ?" 

"  Sure,  sir,  very  sure ;  but,  sir,  here  is  something  which 
may  throw  some  light  on  the  matter.  When  the  young  man 
paid  me  for  the  job,  he,  by  accident,  left  this  knife  upon  my 
table.  It  has  a  name  upon  it." 

The  District  Attorney  took  the  knife,  and  the  counsel  for 
the  prisoner  immediately  stepped  forward ;  each  one  ex 
amined  it. 

The  foreman  of  the  jury  requested  the  name  should  be 
read  to  them 

The  District  Attorney  looked  at  the  Judge. 

"  They  are  entitled  to  all  the  evidence  bearing  upon  the 
case." 

"  The  name  on  this  knife,  gentlemen,  is — James  Edwards." 

A  shudder  passed  through  the  whole  assembly ;  Sarah 
leaned  upon  her  uncle  Augustus,  who  was  trembling  with  the 
agitation  which  this  new  development  had  caused. 

"  Oh,  God  !  be  thou  my  refuge."  It  was  only  whispered 
in  her  heart.  She  began  to  taste  the  bitterness  of  that  grief 
which  knows  no  comforter. 

The  effect  upon  Edwards  was  very  marked  ;  his  counte- 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  161 

nance  assumed  an  expression  which  was  not  usual  to  it ;  fierce 
passions  seemed  to  be  arousing.  He  spoke  to  Theodore  in  a 
strain  of  great  earnestness,  and  was  about  to  address  the  as 
sociate  counsel,  when  the  Judge,  leaning  forward,  asked  the 
witness, 

"  Can  you  identify  the  person  who  employed  you  to  make 
that  key  ?" 

"  I  can,  sir." 

"  Have  you  seen  him  since  you  have  been  within  the 
court  ?" 

"  I  have,  sir." 

"  Is  that  the  man  who  employed  you  to  make  this  key  ?" 
pointing  to  the  prisoner. 

The  stillness  of  death  reigned  throughout  the  vast  room, 
as  the  witness,  raising  his  hand  and  pointing  it,  spoke  in  a 
distinct  and  deliberate  manner, 

"  Yes,  sir,  that  is  the  man  ;  I  can  swear  to  him." 

An  hysteric  scream  broke  the  solemn  stillness,  and  Sarah 
was  immediately  carried  by  her  friends,  senseless,  from  the 
room. 

"May  it  please  the  Court,"  said  Theodore,  rising  and 
speaking  with  great  energy,  "  there  is  some  great  mistake  ; 
the  witness  did  not  designate  my  client  ;  he  neither  pointed 
to  him  nor  looked  at  him." 

A  hum  of  voices  now  buzzed  through  the  court,  and  for  a 
moment  the  disturbance,  caused  by  the  removal  of  Sarah  and 
the  exit  of  her  friends,  made  it  impossible  for  the  voice  of  the 
counsel  to  be  heard. 

"•  Silence,  silence  in  the  court,"  and  the  High  Constable 
struck  his  staff  upon  the  floor  with  some  violence.  "  Officers, 
see  that  all  are  seated." 

"If  your  Honor  pleases,  the  witness  did  not  point  out  my 
.client  as  one  whom  he  knew." 

"  Let  the  witness  confront  the  prisoner." 

"  Do  you  recognize  that  person  as  the  one  who  employed 
you  to  make  the  key?1'' 

Again  every  breath  was  hushed.  Edwards  raised  his 
keen  bright  eye,  and  fixed  it  firmly  upon  the  witness.  A 
moment  the  old  man  eyed  the  youth,  and  then,  looking  in 
tently  around  upon  the  seat  where  the  witnesses  had  been, 
appeared  much  confused. 


162  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

"  I  saw  him  distinctly,  your  Honor,  but  a  moment  ago ; 
that  young  man  I  have  never  seen  before." 

The  audience  could  not  be  restrained  ;  their  feelings  had 
become  intensely  excited,  and  a  murmur  of  decided  approba 
tion  filled  the  room.  The  Judge  called,  in  his  clear,  calm 
voice, 

"  Let  the  court  be  cleared,  officers  ;  unless  silence  is  ob 
served." 

'•  Silence  in  the  court !"  and  again  the  officers  were  busy 
with  their  staves  amid  the  crowd. 

The  senior  counsel  for  Edwards  now  arose. 

u  May  it  please  the  Court,  I  rise  to  move  an  adjournment 
of  this  cause  ;  circumstances  have  transpired  since  the  com 
mencement  of  this  trial,  which  throw  new  light  upon  this 
hitherto  mysterious  affair  ;  if  time  be  allowed,  my  client  can 
now,  without  doubt,  produce  testimony  which  will  remove 
every  shadow  of  suspicion  from  him.  I,  therefore,  pray  the 
Court  to  grant  us  an  adjournment,  but  for  another  day." 

For  a  few  moments  the  District  Attorney  was  in  close 
converse  with  Mr.  Catchem,  who  had  retired  with  the  wit 
nesses  when  Sarah  was  carried  from  the  room.  He  had  not, 
from  the  first,  appeared  desirous  of  going  further  than  the 
simple  discharge  of  his  official  duty  required,  and  as  he  now 
rose  to  address  the  Court,  he  was  evidently  as  much  gratified 
as  though  he  had  been  acting  for  the  prisoner. 

"  May  it  please  your  Honor,  I  have  just  learned  that  a  full 
confession  has  been  made  by  an  individual  who  has  left  the 
court,  which  entirely  clears  the  young  man  who  has  been  be 
fore  us,  charged  with  the  commission  of  this  crime.  I,  there 
fore,  relinquish  the  cause,  and  pray  that  a  nolle  prosegui  be 
entered." 

It  would  be  in  vain  to  attempt  a  description  of  the  scene 
which  followed. 

The  court  immediately  arose,  and  all  within  the  bar  was 
in  confusion. 

The  friends  of  James  at  once  surrounded  him,  each  anxious 
to  testify  the  warmth  of  their  congratulations.  Mr.  Wharton 
seized  his  hand,  while  the  big  tears  rolled  down  his  venerable 
face. 

"  God  be  praised,  God  be  praised,"  as  the  Judge  recognized 
in  Mr.  Whartou  an  old  friend  ;  he  approached  him  with  much 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  163 

cordiality,  and  their  salutation  was  hearty  and  long  continued. 
He  then  took  the  hand  of  Edwards. 

"  Most  truly  do  I  congratulate  you,  my  dear  sir.  You 
have  borne  yourself  like  a  true  man." 

James  could  not  speak  ;  his  emotions  were  swelling  at  each 
moment,  as  wave  after  wave  came  rolling  in  from  that  ocean 
of  love  and  interest  in  which  his  heart  had  once  bathed  with 
such  delight,  and  from  which,  of  late,  only  dark  and  forbid 
ding  clouds  had  swept  upon  him. 

Theodore  now  advanced  from  the  circle  of  lawyers,  from 
whom  he  had  been  receiving  high  compliments  for  his  maiden 
effort.  The  young  men  looked  steadily  at  each  other,  as,  with 
the  warmth  of  friendship,  now  sealed  for  life,  their  hands  were 
clasped.  Tears  glistened  in  their  bright  eyes,  the  only  ex 
pression  of  volumes  of  thought,  too  big  for  utterance. 

"  Sarah  !  Theodore,  where  is  she  ?"  Without  answering, 
Theodore  took  the  arm  of  his  friend,  and  accompanied  by  Mr. 
Wharton,  they  left  the  court,  and  entered  an  adjoining  room 
within  the  building. 

Sarah  had  fully  recovered,  and  had  just  been  informed  of 
the  result ;  as  soon  as  she  saw  James,  she  arose,  and  he 
hastened  towards  her. 

«  James  !" 

"  Sarah !"  and  he  folded  her  to  his  bosom  in  a  fond 
embrace. 

No  words  passed  between  them.  Words  could  not  con 
vey  the  fulness  of  their  gushing  hearts ;  it  was  the  hour  of 
love,  in  all  its  rich  and  trustful  sweetness,  without  one  alloy 
to  taint  its  bliss. 

Mr.  Augustus  Hunt  and  Betty  were  the  only  friends,  be 
sides  those  who  had  just  entered,  to  witness  the  meeting. 
The  old  man  was  almost  beside  himself  with  joy  ;  again  and 
again  he  took  the  hand  of  James. 

"  It's  the  happiest  day  of  my  life — it's  the  happiest  day  of 
my  life — rot  the  old  chest ;  it  has  like  to  have  been  the  death 
of  me.  Uncle  Geordie's  got  all  his  money,  too,  and  has  gone 
home  as  happy  as  a  lark." 

Betty  sat  in  one  corner  of  the  room,  keeping  a  respectful 
distance,  and  wiping  away  the  tears  of  joy  that  were  running 
down  her  honest  face.  James  did  not  forget  her  ;  he  stepped 
up  and  took  her  hand. 


164  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

"  Well,  Betty,  things  are  brighter  than  when  we  last 
met." 

"  Oh !  yes,  dear  sowl !  I  told  you  it  would  be  so." 

"  Yes,  you  did,  Betty  ;  you  had  more  confidence  than  any 
of  us." 

"  And  hadn't  I  good  raison  to  be  so,  when  that  dear  young 
leddy  was  prayin'  and  prayin',  night  and  day,  that  ye  might 
be  delivered ;  sure  was  I,  if  help  was  to  be  had,  ye  would  have 
it.  But,  oh,  dear  !  Mr.  James,  it  has  like  to  have  kilt  me, 
and  sich  a  lump  as  there  is  here,  and  go  away  it  wont,  do 
what  I  will ;  and  that  ould  withered  gowk,  with  his  eyes  seven 
ways  for  Sundays,  blinking  across  the  room,  and  sayin'  he 
knew  it  to  be  yoursell.  Odd,  Mr.  James,  I  could  have  shuck 
him  till  the  breath  was  out  of  him,  the  old  blind  fule." 

•'  Never  mind,  Betty,  it  is  all  over  DOW." 

And  Betty  pounded  on  her  chest :  "  Oh,  dear  !  oh,  dear — 
th'is  lump,  this  lump ;  it  grows  bigger  and  bigger." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

RUDOLPH  had  made  a  full  confession  of  the  vile  attempt  upon 
the  character  of  James  Edwards.  A  combination  of  circum 
stances  had  produced  this  result ;  it  was  not  that  his  heart 
had  become  penitent  and  overcome  by  true  contrition,  but  he 
was  conscious  of  deep  villainy.  He  had  found,  from  the  ad 
dress  which  had  been  pointed  at  him  in  the  court,  that  through 
all  the  specious  covering  which  he  had  thrown  over  the  ex 
terior,  his  true  character  was  discovered.  He  had  learned 
also  that  the  female  witness,  who  was  just  ready  to  be  sworn, 
had,  ere  she  left  her  home,  witnessed  the  death  of  that  poor 
trusting  girl,  who  had  fallen  a  sacrifice  to  his  faithlessness. 
Evils  were  gathering  about  him  which  he  feared  to  meet,  and 
by  a,  sudden  rush  of  feeling,  he  had  been  impelled  to  make  a 
disclosure  to  his  uncle,  the  elder  Mr.  Hunt,  at  the  same  time 
handing  him  back  the  money  which  he  had  taken  from  the 
chest,  hoping,  no  doubt,  that  the  gain  of  that  lost  treasure 


. 

TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  165 

would  so  mollify  the  feelings  of  his  uncle  as  to  enable  him  to 
obtain  some  advantage  therefrom.  But  he  had  made  a  wrong 
calculation  ;  his  uncle  Geordie  was  filled  with  rage,  and  it  was 
only  through  the  powerful  intercession  of  Mr.  Augustus  Hunt 
that  he  was  not  at  once  delivered  into  the  hands  of  the 
Sheriff;  by  his  means  he  was  immediately  sent  from  the  city, 
with,  however,  only  a  small  supply  of  money,  barely  sufficient 
to  cai-ry  him  to  the  distant  West. 

James  had  not  been  without  his  suspicions  of  Rudolph's 
soundness  of  heart,  and  he  had,  at  times,  strong  surmises  that, 
in  some  way,  Rudolph  was  concerned  in  bringing  about  the 
calamity  which  had  come  upon  him  ;  but  our  first  impressions 
will  cling  to  us,  and  have  an  influence  over  our  feelings,  even 
after  we  are  sure  that,  influence  is  wrong. 

James  had  never  forgotten  the  hour  of  his  deep  distress, 
when  the  urgent  intercession  of  Rudolph  had  done  much,  as 
he  afterwards  learned,  to  procure  him  that  situation  which  at 
once  raised  him  from  despair  and  rain.  Neither  could  he 
forget  the  many  and  repeated  acts  of  generosity  which  Rudolph 
had  manifested  towards  him.  nor  the  uniform  kindness  with 
which  he  had  treated  him.  These  all  together  had  thrown  a 
chain  around  his  heart,  which  even  many  circumstantial  proofs 
of  the  obliquity  of  his  feelings  of  late  could  not  break  ;  and  it 
was  not  until  the  circumstance  of  the  knife  being  brought  into 
court,  and  thus  used  as  a  terrible  witness  against  himself, 
that  his  mind  was  fully  released  from  its  shackles,  and  he  re 
solved  to  forget  all  past  obligations,  and  save  himself  from  the 
fangs  of  a  villain,  while  the  means  remained  by  which  he 
could  accomplish  it.  He  had  loaned  Rudolph  that  knife  on 
the  very  day  that  it  had  been  thus  left,  as  he  now  doubted 
not,  by  design,  to  entrap  him.  in  case  any  suspicions  should 
lead  the  locksmith  to  inform  against  him. 

But  the  net  was  broken  ;  the  bird  had  escaped  from  the 
snare  of  the  fowler  ;  his  mind,  freed  from  the  terrible  pres 
sure  that  had  been  crushing  it,  was  now  buoyant  and  happy; 
his  enemy  had  fallen  and  was  an  outcast,  skulking  from 
the  sight  of  those  who  had  ever  known  him. 

At  once,  his  noble  mind  forgot  the  evil  which  Rudolph 
had  designed,  and  thought  only  of  the  blasting  which  had 
come  over  the  bright  prospects  of  one  with  whom  he  had 


166  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

long  been  a  companion  ;  and  he  resolved,  if  the  thing  could 
possibly  be  accomplished,  to  save  him  yet. 

It  was  the  hour  of  prosperity  with  James,  and  his  heart, 
softened  by  its  influence,  was  full  of  forgiveness  and  love. 
He  wanted  no  revenge,  and  the  thought  was  painful  to 
him,  that  one  human  being  within  the  circle  of  his  interest 
should,  on  his  account,  be  suffering  the  pangs  of  remorse  and 
disappointed  expectation.  Under  the  influence  of  such  feel 
ings,  and  deeply  pondering  upon  the  course  he  should  pur 
sue,  he  entered  his  old  home,  the  house  of  Mr.  Geordie  Hunt, 
accompanied  by  Sarah  and  her  uncle  Augustus.  His  recep 
tion  was  cordial  as  his  heart  could  wish ;  not  one  but  ap 
peared  to  rejoice  in  the  proof  of  his  perfect  innocence.  Mat 
ters  had  scarcely  subsided,  after  the  deep  excitement  of  the 
day.  into  the  usual  quiet  of  that  domestic  circle,  when  James 
was  invited  by  Mr.  Augustus  Hunt  to  step  with  him  into  an 
adjoining  room,  that  they  might  have  a  private  interview. 
As  they  entered  the  apartment,  Mr.  G-eordie  was  sitting  qui 
etly  by  the  window,  looking  out  at  the  passing  multitude 
with  rather  an  indifferent  stare,  as  though  it  were  little  mat- 
.ter  to  him  what  was  the  absorbing  interest  that  hurried  each 
along,  while  his  hands  were  busily  employed  twisting  and 
turning  his  red  silk  pocket  handkerchief  into  all  kinds  of 
shapes. 

Mr.  Augustus  carefully  closed  the  door,  and  taking  a 
seat  by  his  brother,  motioned  James  to  bring  a  chair  and 
sit  near  to  them. 

"  That's  right,  Master  James ;  take  a  seat,  take  a  seat. 
We  want  to  talk  a  little  ;  bless  my  soul !  what  a  day  this 
has  been." 

"  It  has  been  a  bad  business — bad  business ;  but  you've 
got  all  your  money  again,  haven't  you,  brother  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes.  about  all." 

"  Well,  so  far  that's  good ;  but  it's  been  a  narrow  chance 
for  Master  James,  here.  What  a  villain  he  must  be ;  but 
he's  gone,  and  that's  an  end  to  it." 

"  I  hope  so." 

"  Well,  I  guess  it  is ;  I  don't  think,  brother,  he  will  ever 
put  foot  in  your  sight  after  the  dressing  you  gave  him  :  he's 
got  enough  of  Uncle  Geordie.  I  guess.  But  now  for  this 
other  matter;  you  see  Mr.  Edwards,"  and  Mr.  Augustus 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  167 

turned  his  face  full  upon  his  brother,  although  his  address 
was  to  James.  "  You  see,  Mr.  Edwards,  we  have  been  talk 
ing  over  things  a  little,  and  I  have  been  telling  my  brother 
some  secrets  of  our  family  that  perhaps  I  knew  more  about 
than  he  did."  It  would  have  been  a  curious  sight  just  then 
to  watch  the  contortions  which  the  red  handkerchief  had  to 
go  through.  ''And  we  have  been  thinking,  Master  James, 
that  this  has  like  to  have  been  a  bad  business  for  you,  very 
bad  indeed  ;  you  have  run  a  very  narrow  chance*" 

"  I  know  I  have,  sir  ;  and  I  hope  I  shall  ever  remember 
the  kind  Providence  by  which  I  have  been  delivered."  . 

"  Yes,  yes,  that  is  all  well  enough  so  far  as  it  goes  ;  but  I 
and  my  brother  feel" — and  he  looked  archly  at  his  brother, 
while  the  handkerchief  whirled  round  faster  and  faster — 
"  I  say,  I  and  my  brother  feel  that,  seeing  all  this  trouble 
has  come  upon  you  out  of  our  family  like,  we  ought  to  make 
you  some  compensation.  You  feel  so.  don't  you,  brother?" 
Mr.  Geordie  wriggled  a  little  in  his  chair. 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  no  doubt." 

"  Gentlemen,  you  are  very  kind  thus  to  express  your 
selves  ;  but  it  is  compensation  enough  for  me,  to  know  that 
I  am  restored  again  to  the  good  opinion  of  my  friends." 

"  No  doubt,  no  doubt ;  that  may  satisfy  you  well  enough, 
Master  James,  but  good  opinion  of  friends  wont  make  the 
pot  boil,  and  as  things  are  now  between  us,  we  want  to  make 
you  a  little  amends  for  the  trouble  you  have  had,  and  to  put 
you  in  a  way  to  be  doing  for  youself.  Now  to  cut  the  mat 
ter  short,  it  is  our  wish,  since  our  nephew  has  turned  out  as 
he  has,  just  to  put  you  into  his  place.  Sit  down,  sit  down, 
Master  James,"  seeing  James  about  to  rise.  "  Keep  your 
seat ;  I  am  not  through  yet,  and  there,"  handing  James  a 
paper,  "  is  an  order  from  me  on  our  firm  for  six  thousand 
dollars ;  you  can  pass  that  to  your  credit  on  our  books  to 
morrow  ;  it  will  be  a  nest-egg  to  begin  with.  Now  don't  say 
any  thing,"  seeing  James  about  to  say  a  great  deal,  "  don't 
say  any  thing ;  I  know  how  you  feel." 

;'  May  God  reward  you,  Mr.  Hunt,  for  all  your  noble, 
generous  conduct  towards  me.  And — " 

"  Hoot,  toot,  stop  with  it,  James  ;  are  you  not  the  same 
as  one  of  the  family  now  ?  and  it  is  only  taking  out  of 
one  hand  and  putting  it  in  the  other ;  besides,  remember, 


168  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

James,  you  have  got  a  richer  trust  committed  to  your  keep 
ing,  and  one  that  I  prize  more,  much  more,  than  all  the 
wealth  which  I  have  earned." 

James  grasped  the  hand  of  his  benefactor ;  "  and  I  prize 
that  trust,  sir,  beyond  all  the  wealth  you  can  bestow." 

"  I  believe  you,  James,  and  my  brother  has  as  strong  be 
lief  in  your  truth  and  virtue  as  I  have  myself." 

"We  wish  you  well,  we  wish  you  well,  Master  James, 
for  your  own  sake  and  Sally's  too." 

As  Mr.  Geordie  said  this,  he  arose  and  was  about  to  de 
part. 

"  But,  gentlemen,  I  have  one  request  to  make  of  you  ; 
can  nothing  be  done  for  Rudolph,  to  snatch  him  from  de 
struction  ?  I  will  make  any  sacrifice  myself  if — " 

"  He's  a  villain  !"  said  Mr.  Geordie,  "  he's  a  great  vil 
lain  !  I'll  have  nothing  to  do  with  him  ;  he's  a  disgrace  to 
the  family." 

'•  He  has  done  a  great  wrong,  sir,  no  doubt,  or  rather  he 
has  attempted  it.  But  perhaps  he  deeply  regrets  it." 

"  Ay,  ay.  I  tell  you.  James,  neither  you  nor  uncle 
Geordie  know  Rudolph  as  I  do.  He  is  a  desperate  villain. 
No.  no,  he  has  got  enough  to  work  his  way  off  among  the 
wild  Indians,  and  there's  the  best  place  for  him  " 

"  But  if  he  could  be  brought  to  see  the  error  of  the  prin 
ciples  he  has  adopted,  now,  in  the  hour  of  his  trouble,  and 
when  he  has  found  to  what  they  lead,  to  renounce  them." 

"  Ay.  if  he  will  renounce  them  !  but  you  might  as  well  try 
to  make  an  eel  out  of  an  adder,  as  to  make  Rudolph  re 
nounce  his  principles.  No,  no,  I  wouldn't  trust  him." 

"  But  now  is  the  hour  of  trial ;  he  is  in  trouble ;  his 
bright  prospects  have  vanished ;  like  a  mist  his  friends  have 
melted  away,  and  he  is  alone — an  outcast ;  let  me  go  to  him 
as  a  messenger  t>f  hope  ;  let  me  tell  him  that  the  past  is  for 
given,  and  although  he  may  not  return  here,  yet.  in  some 
distant  place  where  he  may  settle,  you  will  be  his  helpers." 

"  It's  idle.  James,  it's  idle  talking ;  you  are  but  a  young 
man,  and  have  not  become  acquainted  with  the  dark  side  of 
human  nature.  Uncle  Geordie  and  I  have  lived  many  years, 
and  have  seen  all  sides  of  things.  When  a  young  man  with 
no  motive,  but  such  as  the  old  Enemy  himself  possessed  when 
he  spoiled  our  first  parents,  does  as  Rudolph  has  done,  de- 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  169 

pend  upon  it,  my  young  friend,  he  is  a  gone  case — no  help 
— no  help." 

Uncle  Geordie  shook  his  head. 

"  You're  right,  Gussy,  you're  right." 

But  the  mind  of  James  was  fully  determined,  and  al 
though  they  warned  him  that  it  would  be  a  useless  task,  yet 
to  his  urgent  plea  they  yielded  thus  far — that,  if  Rudolph 
could  send  back  a  good  account  of  himself,  and  assure  them 
of  his  changed  character,  they  would  see  what  they  could  do, 
and  that  he  might,  at  all  events,  have  the  balance  due  to 
him  on  their  books. 

Rudolph  had  left  the  city,  but  James  ascertained  that 
he  had  merely  crossed  the  river,  and  would,  probably,  re 
main  at  the  stage-house  through  the  night ;  the  conveyance, 
by  which  he  was  to  start,  would  not  leave  until  early  in  the 
morning ;  he  determined  to  follow  him  then,  and  try  his 
benevolent  experiment. 

The  day  was  drawing  to  a  close,  and  James  felt  that  no 
time  was  to  be  lost ;  as  he  arose  to  depart,  his  two  aged 
friends  each  took  his  hand,  and  again  assured  him  how  joy 
fully  they  hailed  his  deliverance,  and  how  much  pleasure 
they  anticipated  in  numbering  him  as  one  of  themselves. 

"  I  feel  twenty  years  younger,  my  dear-  fellow,"  said  Mr. 
Augustus,  as  he  put  his  hand  affectionately  upon  his  shoul 
der,  ';  twenty  years  younger ;  it  is  the  happiest  day  of  my 
life." 

In  the  adjoining  room,  Sarah  was  waiting  to  welcome 
him ;  she  knew  for  what  purpose  he  had  been  closeted  with 
her  uncles,  and,  as  they  entered,  she  came  up  to  him  with  an 
animated  smile  lighting  up  her  beautiful  countenance  with 
the  brightness  of  her  happiest  days ;  her  uncle  Augustus 
took  her  hand,  and  placing  it  in  that  of  the  noble  youth  who 
stood  beside  him, 

"  There,  James,  I  can  give  you  nothing  more  ;  God  bless 
you." 

Sarah  held  the  hand  of  her  lover  in  a  tight  embrace,  and, 
throwing  her  arm  around  the  neck  of  her  uncle, 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  good  uncle  !  how  shall  I  ever  repay  you ! 
All  I  can  do  is  to  pledge  you,  for  myself  and  James,  the  obe 
dience,  the  love  of  children." 

"  Well,  well,  Sally  dear,  that  will  do,  that  will  do."    And 


170  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

the  old  man  broke  suddenly  away ;  his  generous  spirit  was 
on  fire,  and  the  big  tears  had  started. 

'•  But  is  it  true."  said  Sarah,  as  she  took  the  arm  of  him 
to  whom  her  uncle  had  just  then  so  solemnly  committed  her, 
"  that  you  are  designing  a  visit  to  Rudolph  ?  it  cannot  surely 
be,  James?" 

<:  It  is  true,  Sarah." 

"  Oh,  James,  you  little  know  the  bitterness  that  is  in  his 
heart  against  you." 

"  Perhaps  not ;  but  I  go  to  him  with  a  spirit  of  kindness, 
not  to  upbraid  him  for  the  past,  but  to  give  him  hope  for 
the  future.  He  is  now  prostrate  alone,  friendless  ;  he  will, 
he  must  appreciate  the  motives  which  induce  me,  under  all 
the  circumstances,  to  seek  him  out  and  offer  him  encourage 
ment." 

"  Ah,  James  !  I  fear  it  is  a  hopeless  errand  upon  which 
you  are  intent ;  and  not  only  hopeless,  it  is  in  my  view  fear 
fully  dangerous." 

"  Why,  I  shall  be  obliged,  no  doubt,  to  cross  the  river  in 
a  small  boat.  I  do  not,  however,  apprehend  much  danger." 

"  It  is  not  the  danger  of  crossing  the  river,  although  the 
night  is  dark ;  that  is  not  the  evil  which  I  dread ;  but  would 
the  man  who  has  made  such  a  deadly  thrust  at  your  reputa 
tion,  hesitate  to  take  your  life  ?  depend  upon  it,  James,  he 
would  not." 

"  My  dear  Sarah  !  such  fears  are  groundless,  and  should 
not  be  indulged ;  let  us  try  to  do  our  duty  ;  or  at  least  let 
me  try  to  do  mine.  Think  of  my  deliverance  to-day  !  and 
should  I  allow  an  unmanly  fear  to  deter  me  from  the  dis 
charge  of  what  appears  a  duty  ?" 

"  My  dear  James  !"  and  Sarah  looked  up  to  him  with 
her  beautiful  countenance  glowing  with  emotion,  "  I  hope 
I  may  never  be  a  hinderance  to  you  in  the  path  of  duty. 
But  you  have  never  known  Rudolph  as  I  have ;  he  has  never 
exposed  to  you  the  blackness  of  his  heart." 

"  It  pains  me,  Sarah,  to  do  any  thing  which  you  do  not 
approve." 

"  Oh !  I  do  approve  it ;"  and  she  put  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder — "  I  do  approve  it — It  is  just  what  I  should  expect 
from  you,  James ;  but  I  have  strange  apprehensions,  when 
I  think  of  your  encountering  him  alone — if  any  thing  should 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  171 

happen  !"  and  she  covered  her  face,  as  James  pressed  her  to 
his  bosom. 

"  Let  us  trust,  Sarah,  that  in  doing  as  our  consciences  dic 
tate,  there  will  be  a  hand  to  shield  us  in  the  hour  of  danger." 

Sarah  yielded,  and  would  no  longer  persist  in  opposing 
his  will.  At  her  request,  however,  he  took  Jim  along  with 
him,  but  by  no  means  did  he  think  of  allowing  him  to  see 
Rudolph. 

She  parted  from  him,  and  retired  to  her  room  ;  an  uncon 
trollable  foreboding  of  evil  oppressed  her  mind,  and  she  could 
only  obtain  relief  in  committing  him  who  was  now  dearer  to 
her  than  life  itself,  to  the  care  of  her  covenant  Glod. 

Mr.  Wharton  had  been  invited  by  Theodore  Berry  to  ac 
company  him  to  the  house  of  his  mother,  where  James  was 
to  meet  them  in  the  course  of  the  evening.  '  It  was  too  late 
to  think  of  returning  to  his  home,  or  he  would  gladly  have 
done  so.  He  felt  for  those  whom  he  had  left,  and  could  not 
endure  the  thought  that  they  should  be  in  suspense  ;  suffer 
ing  from  the  dread  uncertainty  which  hung  over  the  beloved 
one.  He  was  just  turning  from  the  broad  thoroughfare  into 
one  of  the  narrower  streets  which  cross  it,  in  the  lower  part 
of  the  city,  when  his  arm  was  gently  touched  from  behind  ;  he 
stopped  suddenly,  and  looking  round, 

"  Mr.  Tightbody  !" 

"  It's  me,  sir  ;"  Mr.  Tightbody  could  say  no  more  ;  he 
had  been  walking  very  rapidly  for  some  time,  and  espying 
Mr.  Wharton,  in  his  anxiety  to  overtake  him,  had,  for  a 
short  distance,  attempted  to  run ;  he  was.  moreover,  under 
great  excitement  of  mind.  His  countenance  was  much  flush 
ed  and  his  breathing  heavy. 

Mr.  Wharton  looked  at  him  with  great  earnestness  for 
a  moment,  as  though  questioning  with  himself  what  could 
have  brought  the  little  man  to  the  city ;  and  also,  what  cause 
could  be  operating  to  produce  the  evident  feeling  under 
which  he  was  laboring. 

"  Is  it  all  over,  sir  1  is  the — is  the — is  the  trial  ended  ? 
and—" 

"  It  is  over,  Mr.  Tightbody,  and  our  young  friend  cleared 
of  every  shadow  of  guilt." 

"  Blest  be  praised — blest  be  praised — good  bye,  sir  ;  I'm 
off— I'm  off,  sir." 


172  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

But  Mr.  Wharton  had  taken  his  hand,  and  retained  it  in 
a  tight  grasp. 

"  Off  where,  sir  ?  you  surely  are  not  intending  to  return 
to  night,  Mr.  Tightbody?" 

"  This  very  minute,  sir ;  you  see,  Mr.  Wharton,"  and  he 
tried  to  raise  himself  on  tiptoe,  so  as  to  reach  the  ear  of  the 
reverend  gentleman,  "  I  thought  I  would  steal  a  march,  sir, 
and  so  I  came  off  unbeknown  to  any  but  my  own  folks ;  and 
now  I  ain  right  back  again ;  I  must  let  them  know  the  good 
news,  this  very  night." 

"  But  not,  I  hope,  until  you  have  supped  with  us — Mr. 
Berry,  this  is  Mr.  Tightbody,  a  neighbor  of  ours  in  the 
country."  Theodore  cordially  embraced  the  little  man. 

"  I  trust,  sir,  you  will  do  as  Mr.  Wharton  suggests,  and 
allow  me  to  add,  that  as  a  friend  to  Mr.  Edwards,  I  must 
insist  upon  your  going  in  and  taking  a  bite  with  us  on  this 
joyful  occasion." 

"It's  too  joyful,  sir;  it's  too  joyful;  and  can  I  be  wait 
ing  here  while  that  blessed  mother  and  her  daughters  are 
sitting  with  sorrowful  hearts,  and  watching  through  the  long 
hours  of  the  night  ?" 

"  I  think,  Mr.  Tightbody,  that  if  you  will  remain,  both 
Mr.  Edwards  and  myself  will  accompany  you  home  ;  he  is  to 
be  here  this  evening  to  make  arrangements  for  an  early  start 
on  the  morrow." 

The  little  man  was  much  perplexed.  He  would  have 
preferred  being  the  bearer  of  the  joyful  intelligence  alone ; 
but  he  did  not  see  how  he  could  well  oppose  the  suggestion 
of  Mr.  Wharton.  He  therefore  bowed  low,  and  merely  re 
plying,  ''  At  your  service,  gentlemen,"  entered  the  dwelling 
of  Theodore,  which  was  close  at  hand. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  shades  of  night  were  just  closing  in,  as  Edwards  and 
his  attendant  were  landed  on  the  opposite  shore.  The  stage 
house  stood  upon  the  high  ground,  a  little  back  from  the 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  173 

river,  and  could  only  be  distinguished,  through  the  large 
trees  which  surrounded  it,  by  the  light  from  two  of  its  win 
dows.  He  threaded  his  way  along  the  winding  path  which 
led  up  to  the  house,  followed  at  some  distance  by  his  atten 
dant,  whom  he  had  previously  instructed  should  not  be  seen 
by  Rudolph,  if  it  proved  that  he  was  still  there. 

James  could  not  help  feeling  a  little  trepidation  as  he 
found  himself  drawing  near  the  place  where  he  had  reason 
to  suppose  the  unhappy  young  man  then  was.  The  opinion 
Mr.  Augustus  Hunt  had  expressed  concerning  him  and  the 
fears  of  Sarah,  made  an  impression  on  his  mind,  in  spite 
of  all  his  efforts  to  believe  that  they  were  groundless,  or,  at 
least,  greatly  magnified  by  their  imagination.  The  place 
and  time  were  also  calculated  to  add  to  any  little  feeling  of 
gloom.  The  deep  shadows  of  the  large  trees  which  lined  the 
path  he  was  treading,  the  stillness  which  reigned  around 
were  rendered  more  striking,  in  contrast  with  the  din  of  the 
city  he  had  just  left.  The  waves  gently  breaking  along  the 
rocky  shore,  the  distant  hum  that  came  softly  over  the 
waters,  were  the  only  sounds  that  broke  the  silence  of  this 
lonely  spot.  As  he  approached  the  building,  a  long,  low 
house,  he  saw  a  light  but  from  one  end,  which  proved  to  be 
the  bar-room.  He  entered  without  knocking.  The  bar 
keeper  was  sitting  before  the  fire,  and  two  or  three  men,  ap 
parently  stage  drivers  and  ostlers,  were  resting  on  the 
benches  in  different  parts  of  the  room.  The  former  at  once 
turned  towards  him. 

"  Is  there  a  young  man  here  from  the  city,  intending  to 
take  the  stage  in  the  morning  ?" 

"  There  is  a  young  man  here  who  expects  to  take  the 
early  stage,  but  where  he  is  from,  I  don't  know." 

"  Is  he  about  the  house  ?" 

"  He  has  gone  to  his  room ;  he  asked  for  a  light  a  few 
minutes  since." 

"  Can  you  show  me  the  room  ?" 

The  young  man  hesitated  a  moment. 

"  Why,  yes ;  I  can  show  you  the  room." 

He  took  a  light  and  led  the  way  into  a  small  passage, 
and  from  thence  into  what  appeared  to  be  the  hall  of  the 
house.  Several  doors  opened  into  it,  to  one  of  which  James 


174  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

was  directed  ;  he  knocked  gently,  and  a  voice,  which  he  re 
cognized  as  Rudolph's  called, 

"  Who's  there  ?" 

"A  friend;  James — James  Edwards." 

The  door  was  immediately  opened,  and  Rudolph  stood 
before  him ;  his  brow  was  knit,  and  his  whole  countenance 
stern  and  cold. 

"  May  I  ask  your  special  business  in  thus  intruding 
upon  me  ?" 

"  I  come  as  a  friend.  Mr.  Hunt." 

"  Indeed  !  then  why  so  formal";  Rudolph,  you  have  always 
called  me." 

"  Pardon  that  inadvertence,  Rudolph,  but  believe  me  that 
as  a  friend  I  have  sought  you. 

"  Come  in,  then,  and  be  seated." 

James  took  a  chair,  and  Rudolph,  closing  the  door,  locked 
it  and  put  the  key  in  his  pocket.  James  noticed  the  act, 
and,  for  an  instant,  unpleasant  thoughts  rushed  into  his 
mind ;  but  they  could  not  rest  there ;  strong  in  the  con 
sciousness  of  the  purity  of  his  intentions,  his  mind  retained 
its  firmness.  Rudolph  did  not  take  a  seat,  but  kept  walk 
ing  about  the  room,  apparently  attending  to  matters  con 
nected  with  his  departure,  for  James  heard  him  clasp  the 
lock  of  his  valise  and  fasten  it ;  he,  at  length,  walked  up  to 
where  James  was  sitting. 

"  You  say  you  have  come  as  a  friend  ;  may  I  know  what 
your  friendly  designs  are  ?"  As  he  said  this,  he  did  not 
look  at  Edwards,  but  kept  his  eye  fixed  upon  a  piece  of 
paper  which  he  was  folding,  evidently  with  no  other  design 
than  that  of  affording  a  diversion  to  his  sight  from  an  object 
that  was  not  agreeable  to  him.  He  shrunk  from  the  clear, 
honest  gaze  of  Edwards. 

James  arose  and  extended  his  hand,  but  R,udolph  did 
not  notice  the  act,  or  did  not  wish  to  commit  himself. 

"  Believe  me,  Rudolph,  I  have  no  feelings  towards  you 
but  those  of  perfect  kindness,  and  my  errand  to  you  now.  is 
an  errand  of  love." 

"  Edwards,  I  don't  want  any  of  your  cant ;  it  may 
answer  for  young  girls  and  old  women  ;  but  I  tell  you,  can 
didly,  I  don't  want  to  hear  it ;  you  have  come  here,  I  sup 
pose,  to  condole  with  me,  that  through  you  I  have  become 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  175 

an  outcast  from  society."  Rudolph's  voice  grew  harsher 
and  louder  as  he  said  this,  and  he  turned  his  face  full  upon 
Edwards  ;  a  contemptuous  sneer  was  visible,  as  well  as  fierce 
and  deadly  passion ;  his  brow  was  knit,  his  eye  distended, 
and  his  teeth  compressed. 

'fcWhat  is  there  you  can  bring  by  way  of  consolation  to 
me?" 

"  I  bring  you.  Rudolph,  my  forgiveness,  and  you  cannot 
but  feel  that  you  have  endeavored  to  do  me  a  dreadful  evil ; 
but  I  most  heartily  forgive  it  all ;  and  1  bring  you  a  mes 
sage  from  your  uncles,  that  may  give  you  hope  for  the 
future." 

"  You  bring  me  forgiveness !  And  who  asked  your  par 
don  ?  You  tell  me  that  my  uncles  may  still  aid  me.  and 
perhaps  through  your  intercession  1  You  who  have  wormed 
yourself  into  favor  with  those  whose  friendship  was  my 
birthright,  and  have  now  come  to  triumph  in  my  misery." 

"  Rudolph,  you  do  me  great  injustice,  and  you  know  you 
do.  God  is  my  witness  that  I  have  ever  shunned  to  injure 
you,  and  my  sole  object  here  to-night  is — " 

"  Edwards,  your  words  are  idle,  they  are  wasted  upon 
me ;  this  world  is  not  wide  enough  to  contain  us  both  ;  take 
that,  and  defend  yourself,"  drawing  a  pistol  from  his  breast, 
and  handing  it  to  James,  at  the  same  instant  cocking  another 
and  taking  deadly  aim.  ':  I  shall  count  five,  and  fire  ;  so  be 
quick." 

James  was  horror  stricken  for  a  moment,  but  as  Rudolph 
began  to  count,  he  threw  the  pistol  which  had  been  put  into 
his  hands,  across  the  room,  and  rushed  towards  Rudolph  to 
wrest  the  other  from  his  murderous  grasp.  But  Rudolph 
anticipated  his  attempt  and  fired.  James  fell  to  the  floor  ; 
Rudolph  sprang  to  the  window,  opened  it,  seized  his  valise, 
and  was  out  in  an  instant. 

The  noise  of  the  pistol  soon  brought  the  members  of  the 
family  to  the  door ;  as  it  was  locked,  and  no  answer  made  to 
their  call,  it  was  burst  open.  James  lay  weltering  in  blood, 
and  apparently  dead  or  dying.  They  however  raised  him 
and  placed  him  upon  the  bed,  and  by  using  what  means  they 
had  on  hand  to  revive  him.  he  was  enabled  to  give  some  di 
rections  ;  his  attendant  was  dispatched  to  the  city  to  inform 


176  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

his  friends  and  order  medical  aid,  and  an  express  was  sent  to 
bring  his  mother  and  sisters. 


Mr.  Tightbody  was  beginning  to  be  very  impatient,  a^  the 
evening  was  wearing  away,  and  James  had  not  made  his 
appearance,  when  a  loud  knock  at  the  street  door,  and  a 
hasty  call  for  Mr.  Wharton,  as  soon  as  the  servant  opened 
it,  started  the  two  gentlemen,  who  were  deeply  engaged  in 
conversation.  Theodore  immediately  stepped  into  the  pas- 


"  The  man  wants  the  Rev.  Mr.  Wharton." 
"  Mr.  Wharton  is  here,  do  you  wish  to  see  him  ?" 
"  He  is  wanted  at  Mr.  Hunt's  as  soon  as  possible  ;  there 
is  some  great  trouble,  and  they  wish  him  to  come  as  quick  as 
he  can/' 

Mr.  Timothy  did  not  exactly  understand  the  nature  of 
the  summons  which  Mr.  Wharton  had  so  suddenly  received, 
but  was  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  slip  off,  inwardly  resolv 
ing  that  nothing  should  any  longer  impede  his  progress  to 
wards  home.  His  mind  was  glowing  with  the  glorious  idea 
of  being  the  first  to  communicate  the  good  tidings.  He  had 
not  relished  the  plan  which  Mr.  Wharton  had  proposed,  and 
would,  in  some  way,  have  willingly  declined  it.  He  was  not 
by  nature,  or  habit  a  waterman,  and  when  he  reached  the 
ferry  stairs,  and  saw  how  dark  the  night  looked,  and  how 
very  black  was  the  water,  except  where  the  white  caps  occa 
sionally  glittered  in  the  distance,  giving  tokens  of  a  fresh 
breeze  upon  the  open  stream,  he  heartily  wished  that  he  had 
started  earlier. 

"  Rather  a  fresh  breeze  to-night !"  As  he  said  this  the 
boatmen  were  resting  on  their  oars,  and  waiting  for  their 
passenger,  the  only  one  who  was  to  cross. 

"  Us  a  gittin'  late,  and  if  all's  ready,  we're  off." 
Mr.  Timothy  sprang  in,  hastily  took  the  seat  assigned 
him,  and  putting  one  hand  on  each  side  of  the  boat,  held  on 
with  a  tight  grasp. 

"  There  seems  to  be  considerable  wind  !" 
"  It's  a  freshenin'  up  some ;  there'll  be  more  a  stirrin' 
afore  we  get  over." 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  177 

And  it  was  just  as  they  said.  Mr.  Timothy  was  much 
tossed  in  spirit,  although  he  made  out  to  keep  his  body,  well 
fastened  by  the  strong  braces  be  had  thrown  out  on  each 
side. 

There  is  a  feeling  of  security,  which  ono  has  when  first 
treading  on  the  solid  ground  after  a  little  uncertain  rolling 
and  pitching  upon  the  treacherous  deep,  that  is  truly  delight 
ful,  and  the  more  so,  if  there  should  have  been  any  littlo 
misgivings  as  to  the  perfect  safety  of  our  situation.  When 
Mr.  Timothy  got  fairly  out  of  the  "  cockle  shell,"  as  he  was 
pleased  to  denominate  the  little  craft  which  had  borne  him 
safely  "  o'er  the  ferry,"  and  felt  that  he  was  in  very  deed 
upon  something  that  could  bear  his  weight  without  dodging 
and  twisting  under  him,  his  spirits  were  so  animated,  he 
felt  that  he  could  even  drive  past  the  "Devil's  Dancing 
Place "  (a  spot  that  he  must  pass  on  the  road,  which  had 
ugly  stories  told  about  it),  and  fear  nothing. 

Mr.  Timothy  was  a  careful  man,  as  well  in  the  matter  of 
expense  as  in  regard  to  the  safety  of  his  person.  It  was  the 
custom  in  those  days,  and  it  may  be  in  these,  but  it  was  very 
much  so  then,  for  public  houses  to  have  sheds  near  their  pre 
mises,  appropriated  to  the  use  of  such  customers  as  preferred 
to  carry  their  own  provender  for  the  beasts  they  drove,  and 
as  the  care  of  such  teams  was  not  a  matter  of  concern  to  the 
owner  of  the  premises,  the  building  was  often  at  a  little  re 
move  from  the  barns  and  sheds  where  every  thing  was  under 
the  keeping  of  the  ostlers  of  the  tavern. 

Mr.  Timothy  usually  carried  his  own  provender ;  he  had 
also,  this  day,  thought  best  to  bring  with  him  that  plague  of 
his  life,  Pomp,  and  he  did  it,  as  he  said,  to  "  keep  him  out  of 
mischief,"  although  it  might,  perhaps,  be  as  near  the  truth  to 
say  that  he  expected  to  ride  home  in  the  dark,  and  through 
places  where  a  "  black  varmint"  might  be  better  company 
than  one's  own  thoughts ;  at  any  rate,  Pomp  was  brought 
along,  and  put  in  charge  of  the  horses  and  the  barouche  at 
tached  under  the  shed,  which  happened,  in  the  present  in 
stance,  to  be  at  some  distance  from  the  house,  and  at  the 
corner  of  a  road  that  ran  directly  to  the  ferry. 

"  And  now  do  you  mind,  Pomp,  and  hear  me  !  As  the 
sun  goes  down,  take  the  oats  from  the  bag -that  lies  there 
away  under  the  fore  seat,  and  divide  it  between  them." 


178  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

"  Yes,  massa,  me  will." 

"And  then,  do  you  sit  in  the  carriage,  you  hear !" 

"Yes,  massa,  me  hear  ebery  word." 

"  Do  you  sit  in  the  carriage,  and  watch  them  till  they  aro 
done,  and  no  be  scurrying  round  the  neighborhood.  I  shall 
bo  back  anon,  and  gin  I  catch  you  off  the  seat  or  hereabouts, 
won't  I  finger  you  !" 

"  Yes,  massa,  me  hear  'em." 

And  thus  Mr.  Timothy  left  matters — Pomp  making 
strong  promises  of  obedience,  and  thinking  the  while  what  a 
nice  time  he  should  have  in  disposing  of  a  little  basket  of 
sundries  which  Ma'am  Bet  had  carefully  put  up  for  him. 

It  had  become,  to  use  Mr.  Tightbody's  own  words,  "  ex 
ceeding  dark,"  and  the  lights  which  shone  from  the  house 
were  not  of  much  use  beyond  the  line  of  trees  which  sur 
rounded  it,  as  only  an  occasional  glimmer  could  be  seen 
through  the  openings  in  the  thick  branches.  They  served, 
however,  to  give  Mr.  Timothy  the  bearing  of  the  localities  in 
the  vicinity,  and  he  walked  bravely  on,  although,  as  the 
grounds  were  ascending,  not  at  a  very  rapid  rate.  Soon  he 
saw  a  dark  object  ahead,  which  he  knew  to  be  the  goal  at 
which  he  was  aiming,  and  towards  which,  as  the  obstacle  of 
the  hill  had  been  surmounted  and  the  way  was  level,  he  pro 
gressed  rapidly.  All  at  once,  however,  he  stopped,  and  if  it 
could  have  been  possible  just  then  to  take  cognizance  of  the 
matter,  it  would  have  been  seen  that  Mr.  Timothy  was  very 
pale.  His  eyes  had  for  some  time  been  widely  stretched,  in 
order  to  take  in  all  the  rays  of  light  that  were  to  be  had  ;  but 
now  he  opened  them,  if  possible,  wider  still;  then  he  rubbed 
them,  and  peering  into  the  mist  before  him,  began  to  feel  the 
cold  chills  creeping  up  his  back,  and  the  hat  fairly  moving  on 
his  head. 

He  would  have  spoken,  but  the  creature  was  one  of  such  a 
questionable  appearance  that  he  really  felt  unable  to  do  so ; 
and  it  was  very  near  to  him.  Nothing  separated  them  but 
the  little  ditch  which  ran  by  the  side  of  the  road,  Mr.  Timothy 
being  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  and  the  object  which  thus 
alarmed  him  standing  by  the  fence,'  and  apparently  holding 
fast  to  it.  Mr.  Timothy  had  never  heard  of  black  ghosts,  but 
if  there  could  be  such  things,  he  would  have  said  that  it  was 
the  spirit  of  Pomp.  The  same  size,  the  same  odd  shape,  only 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  179 

it  had  a  queer  little  white  garment  on,  that  was  not  at  all 
fitted  as  a  covering  for  daylight  or  decent  company.  The 
road  near  this  struck  off  to  the  stage  house,  and  Mr.  Timothy, 
after  standing  a  while  and  gazing  at  the  spectre,  his  thoughts 
by  no  means  becoming  more  reconciled  to  its  appearance, 
very  gently,  and  by  almost  an  imperceptible  movement,  began 
to  move  towards  the  house.  Could  it  be  possible !  was  he 
correct ! — was  the  thing  really  advancing  towards  him  !  He 
quickened  his  pace  ;  but  there  it  was,  keeping  about  the  same 
distance,  and  moving  along  after  him  with  noiseless  steps. 

It  was  no  time  for  trifling ;  he  made  more  speed ;  skipped 
once  or  twice.  The  creature  gained  upon  him ;  he  started 
into  a  race,  and  just  then  a  whisper  came  upon  the  cold  night 
air,  "  Massa."  Mr.  Timothy  fairly  flew,  and  without  stopping 
for  leave  or  license,  burst  in  all  his  trepidation  straight  into 
the  bar-room. 

The  room  was,  by  this  time,  well  filled,  for  the  report  of 
the  tragedy  which  had  been  enacted  that  evening  had  spread 
through  the  neighborhood. 

"What  the  dickens  is  the  matter  now?"  said  a  fat  old 
gentleman,  who  started  from  his  chair  and  held  it  up  before 
him,  while  all  were  more  or  less  agitated,  and  looked  at  the 
intruder  in  a  very  inquisitive  manner. 

Mr.  Timothy  was  too  much  out  of  breath  to  do  any  thing 
in  the  way  of  explaining  matters.  He  walked  up  to  the  bar, 
and  then  from  that  to  the  fire-place,  and  so  around  the  room, 
until  it  became  a  matter  of  doubt  with  some  whether  he  was 
not  a  subject  for  some  lunatic  asylum,  and  had  just  escaped. 
Presently  he  stopped  near  to  the  fat  old  gentleman,  above 
mentioned,  and  they  both  looked  at  each  other  for  some  little 
time  without  speaking. 

"  You  have  ran  hard,  sir  !  Any  thing  happened  ? — been 
frightened  ?" 

"  Oh,  no — oh,  no,  not  at  all." 

-  You  came  in  such  a  kind  of  a  hurry,  neighbor,  that  I 
didn't  know  what  was  to  pay  ;  and  seeing  there's  been  such 
doins  here  a'ready  to-night,  it  kind  a  startled  me  ;  one  murder 
is  enough  for  one  night." 

-What! — what  is  it  you  say?  Murder! — was  it  a — 
black?" 

"  No,  it  isn't  jist  a  murder  yet,  but  p'rhaps  it  may  turn  out 


180  TO   LOVE    AND    TO    BE    LOVED. 

something  like  it ;  aint  you  heered  of  the  young  man  as  was 
shot  in  this  very  house  not  an  hour  ago." 

"  Shot !" 

"  Yes,  shot  with  a  pistol,  and  the  fellow's  cleared  out." 

"  Hulloa,  hulloa,  bring  out  a  light  here,  some  of  you." 
All  rushed  to  the  door,  for  the  call  was  a  very  loud  one,  and 
the  maker  of  it  seemed  to  be  alarmed. 

«  What  is  it,  Bill  ?"  called  out  one  of  the  foremost. 

"  Bring  a  light  here  quick,  will  you ;  get  out.  you  devil 
you ;"  and  the  man,  with  his  hat  off,  flew  through  the  door, 
all  making  way  for  him,  while  just  behind  him,  and  clinging 
to  his  coat  tail,  was  a  small-sized  negro,  all  head  and  legs,  and 
no  body ;  he  was  under  bare  poles,  with  no  mortal  covering 
but  a  white  under  garment. 

There  was  great  confusion  in  the  bar-room,  and  some  even 
went  out  at  the  first  opening  that  presented  itself.  Mr. 
Timothy  was  not  lucky  enough  to  get  out,  so  he  brought  up 
in  one  corner,  and  there  stood,  casting  a  look  of  the  most  un 
reserved  astonishment  at  the  poor  object  that  had  thus 
pounced  into  the  room. 

The  fat  old  gentleman  who  had  been  talking  with  Mr. 
Timothy  still  kept  fast  hold  of  the  chair,  and  as  it  happened 
that  the  black  creature  made  towards  him,  and  tried  to  get 
behind  him,  he  raised  his  weapon  aloft,  and  was  going  to  make 
sad  work  with  somebody's  head,  when  his  hand  was  arrested 
by  Mr.  Timothy. 

"  There's  no  danger,  sir,  no  danger ;  I  know  him." 

"You  do,  hey!" 

"  I  do,  sir ;  there  is  some  great  mistake.  Pomp  !  how  is 
this  ! — what  do  you  mean,  running  round  in  this  shape,  and — 
and — alarming  folks  ;  where  are  your  clothes,  sir  ?" 

"  Glolly  massa,  me  don't  know." 

"  Don't  know  !  What  business  had  you  to  strip  yourself 
in  this  shape  ?" 

"  Me  no  do  it,  massa ;  him  do  it  all ;  strip  all  clean  off." 

"  Pomp  don't  lie,  now ;  tell  me  the  truth."  Pomp  had 
squatted  down,  and  was  trying  to  make  the  most  of  what  little 
covering  he  had  ;  he  raised  one  hand. 

"  It's  livin'  trut,  massa ;  he  take  'em  all  off,  and  den  he 
drive  de  carriage  and  horses.  Whew  !  dey  go  spankin',  just 
like  de  wind." 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  181 

"  My !  Pomp  !  Gentlemen — a  lamp — a  lantern  ! 

Will  any  of  you  go  with  me  ?  The  carriage  and  horses  gone  ! 
Where? — who  took  them? — you  black  scoundrel,  tell  me 
quick,  or  I'll  take  every  bit  of  skin  off  you.  Who  took 
them?" 

Mr.  Timothy  looked  round  for  the  man  who  had  gone  for 
a  lantern. 

"  He's  a  coming,  sir,"  said  the  fat  gentleman, "  butl  think 
now,  sir,  I  can  unravel  this  whole  mystery.  You  left  a 
barouche  and  span  of  horses  under  the  shed  at  the  corner,  in 
charge  of  this — this — boy,  or  man.  I  don't  know  which  ;  he 
looks  like  a  little  of  both  ;  didn't  you,  sir  ?" 

"  I  did.  sir,  and  a  fine  span  it  is  too." 

"  Exactly  so  ;  that  fellow  who  shot  the  man  in  this  house 
has,  no  doubt,  taken  the  liberty  to  take  a  ride  with  that  same 
span  ;  they  will  help  him  on  his  way  pretty  considerable  fast ; 
now,  that  is  my  guess." 

Mr.  Timothy  seized  the  lantern,  and  bestowing  his  over 
coat  upon  Pomp,  went  forth  to  see  what  was  to  be  seen. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

Mus.  EDWARDS  and  her  two  daughters  had  passed  a  day  of 
mental  agony ;  they  could  do  nothing  to  aid  him  on  whom 
their  earthly  hopes  rested,  and  could  only  wait  with  patience 
the  result,  whatever  it  might  be. 

When  the  noble  ship  is  caught  by  the  mighty  tempest, 
and  the  waves  are  tossing  in  their  fury,  and  the  winds  howl 
through  the  thick  cordage,  tear  the  strong  sails  from  their 
fastenings,  and  snap  the  towering  masts,  it  fills  the  soul  with 
admiration  to  behold  the  fearless  crew,  far  off  on  the  bare 
spars,  clinging  to  the  flying  ropes,  and  rocking  aloft  through 
the  driving  storm  as  the  swaying  masts  careen  far  over  the 
boiling  sea. 

But  not  less  of  mortal  daring  and  true  manly  courage 
does  it  require,  to  keep  the  steady  watch  far  down  in  the 


182  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

depths  of  the  heaving  ship,  to  feel  the  heavy  plunge,  and 
hear,  far  up.  the  roaring  of  the  mighty  tumult. 

That  widow  had,  long  since,  learned  to  nestle  within  the 
covert  of  that  Rock,  which  shelters  from  the  cruel  storm  and 
the  scorching  heat. 

Through  the  long  hours  of  that  day.  her  spirit  raised  its 
trembling  eye  above.  Earth  had  no  resting  place  for  her 
hope.  Its  enjoyments  for  the  future  were  all  trembling  on 
the  poise ;  and  so  she  looked  away  from  them ;  high  to  the 
throne  above  she  lifted  her  strong  desires ;  and,  at  times 
she  almost  thought  her  humbled  heart  was  ready  for  the 
deadliest  blow.  But  as  the  shades  of  evening  gathered,  and 
the  night  came  on  ;  as  the  hour  approached  when,  possibly, 
tidings  might  come — tidings,  whose  thrilling  notes  must 
pierce  the  very  depths  of  her  soul,  the  mother  was  again 
alive  within,  and  her  yearning  spirit  swayed  to  and  fro, 
through  the  long  sweep  that  separates  hope  and  despair. 

It  was  at  the  dead  hour  of  midnight,  when  her  watching 
ear  heard  the  distant  rumbling  of  a  carriage.  Nearer  and 
nearer  it  approached ;  her  very  heart  rested  its  beat ;  it 
stopped  at  the  gate,  and  in  an  instant  more,  a  loud  knocking 
at  the  door  aroused  each  inmate  of  the  little  family. 

"  Does  Mrs.  Edwards  live  here  ?"  said  a  young  man  to  the 
widow  herself,  who  had  gone  calmly  forward  to  meet  the 
messenger  of  weal  or  woe. 

"  She  does ;  I  am  Mrs.  Edwards."  The  face  of  the 
youth  paled  as  he  looked  into  her  beautiful,  yet  sorrow- 
stricken  countenance. 

"  Your  son,  madam,  has  sent  for  you  to  come  to  him  im 
mediately;  he  has  been  severely  injured,  and  may  not  re 
cover." 

"  Injured  !  How  ?  By  what  means  ?  Tell  me — tell  me 
quick." 

"Indeed,  madam.  I  can  tell  you  but  little  about  it :  I  was 
sent  off  in  great  haste.  He  has  been  shot  by  some  person, 
and  is  now  lying  very  low  at  the  stage  house,  near  the  ferry, 
opposite  New- York." 

';  How  has  the  trial  terminated  ?     Can  you  tell  me  ?" 

"  I  know  nothing  about  it,  madam." 

To  describe  the  conflict  of  contending  thoughts  and  feel 
ings,  is  not  within  the  power  of  a  common  pen.  The  effect 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  183 

produced,  was  that  which  often  fills  the  soul,  when  amid  the 
war  of  elements,  an  awe  pervades  it  that  hushes  all  other 
feelings  into  quiet.  God,  in  his  terrible  might,  seems  near, 
and  man  must  be  still. 

The  mother  and  sisters  looked   at   each  other  in  calm, 
mute  agony,  and  at  once  prepared  to  go  on  their  sad  journey. 


Mr.  Wharton,  accompanied  by  Theodore,  was  soon  at  the 
mansion  of  Mr.  Hunt ;  a  carriage  was  in  waiting  at  the  door, 
and  there  was  an  appearance  of  confusion  in  the  passage  as 
though  persons  were  preparing  to  depart. 

As  they  entered  the  dwelling,  Sarah  flew  to  Mr.  Wharton. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Wharton  !  James  ! — James  !"  She  almost  fell 
into  his  arms,  and  her  feelings  broke  forth  in  sobs  and  tears. 

Mr.  Augustus  Hunt  saw  the  agonized  look  of  Mr.  Whar 
ton,  and  immediately  led  him  one  side,  and  in  a  few  words 
communicated  the  heart-rending  intelligence. 

"  The  Lord's  will  be  done.'"'  He  stepped  up  to  Sarah, 
and  affectionately  embracing  her,  "  Let  us  be  still,  my 
child  ;  this  last  evil  is  not  worse  than  the  first.  We  can  bet 
ter  afford  to  lose  our  dear  James,  than  to  see  him  an  outcast 
with  a  stain  of  deep  disgrace  on  his  character  for  life  ;  better 
death  than  an  ignominious  doom.  But  let  us  hasten  to 
him." 

"  My  dear  uncle,  I  must  go  ;  you  will  not  refuse  me  !" 

"  You  shall  go,  my  darling." 

They  were  soon  at  the  ferry  ;  the  night  was  dark,  and  the 
heavy  waves  rolled  along  by  the  sea-breeze,  which  was  now 
quite  fresh,  dashed  against  the  long  piers,  as  their  little  boat 
shot  into  the  open  stream  ;  not  a  word  was  passed  from  one 
of  the  little  company ;  thoughts  too  engrossing  held  each 
bosom  in  close  communion  with  itself.  The  rough  water 
upon  which  they  tossed,  and  the  spray  that  occasionally  flew 
over  them,  they  heeded  not.  but  it  seemed  a  long,  long  time 
before  the  rowers  raised  their  oars,  and  moored  on  the  op 
posite  shore. 

As  they  entered  the  dwelling,  the  first  inquiry  was, 

"  Is  the  young  man  alive  ?" 

"  He  is." 


184  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

The  surgeon,  accompanied  by  his  assistant,  immediately 
repaired  to  the  room  where  James  was  still  lying. 

Mr.  Wharton,  Mr.  Augustus  Hunt,  Sarah,  and  Theodore 
retired  to  await  the  professional  report. 

How  much  of  life  is  sometimes  compressed  within  a  short 
half  hour!  What  thrilling  anxieties  work  up  the  very 
depths  of  the  soul !  raising  the  excited  feelings,  now  upon 
the  pinnacle  of  hope,  and  now  plunging  it  down — down  to 
darkness  and  gloom,  like  the  shadows  of  the  grave  ! 

At  length  the  foot  of  the  surgeon  was  heard  approaching 
the  room.  Every  eye  was  fixed  with  eloquent  intensity 
upon  him  as  he  opened  the  door ;  but  not  a  sign  could  they 
read  upon  his  calm,  cold  countenance. 

"  He  has  had  a  narrow  escape  !" 

"  Then  you  think  he  can  possibly  recover,  Doctor  !"  said 
Mr.  Wharton,  stepping  up  to  him. 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  I  think  he  will  undoubtedly  recover,  but  he 
must  be  kept  quiet;  he  has  lost  much  blood." 

Mr.  Wharton  and  Sarah  were  first  permitted  to  enter  the 
sick  chamber. 

The  door  was  opened  by  the  attendant,  and  they  stood 
by  the  side  of  him  they  loved  so  much,  and  looked  upon  his 
pallid  countenance,  almost  marked  with  the  lineaments  of 
death.  No  word  was  spoken.  He  looked  up  at  Sarah  and 
smiled.  She  stooped  over  him,  and  kissed  his  fair  forehead, 
and  then  whispered  in  his  ear, 

"  I  shall  stay  with  you,  James." 

It  was  ascertained  that  the  express  which  had  been  sent 
for  Mrs.  Edwards  and  her  daughters,  would  probably  arrive 
by  nine  o'clock  the  next  morning,  and  Mr  Wharton,  anx 
ious  to  relieve  their  troubled  minds,  resolved  upon  an  early 
start,  that  he  might  meet  them  on  their  way. 

That  morning  broke  in  all  the  beauty  of  a  clear,  bright 
sky  and  bracing  air  ;  as  the  yellow  streaks  of  light  were 
shooting  up  from  the  east,  this  true-hearted  friend  stepped 
forth  to  go  on  his  errand  of  love.  James  had  slept  well ; 
he  was  much  refreshed,  and  all  danger  was  felt  to  be  past ; 
the  joyful  hope  that  filled  the  breast  of  Mr.  Wharton,  in 
spired  him  with  the  elasticity  of  youth,  and  five  miles  were 
soon  passed  over,  and  he  had  reached  the  tavern  where  he 
designed  to  await  the  little  company  of  mourners.  A  car- 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  185 

riage,  driven  rapidly,  was  soon  descried,  and  he  advanced 
beyond  the  premises,  as  he  wished  not  to  expose  to  the 
public  gaze  the  intense  emotions  of  that  agonized  group.  As 
the  vehicle  approached,  he  motioned  the  driver  to  stop.  His 
cheerful  countenance  at  once  inspired  their  hopes. 

<;  Oh,  Mr.  Wharton  !  Mr.  Wharton  !  James  lives  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  he  lives  and  will  no  doubt  recover.  All  is  well, 
praise  God,  my  dear  madam,  your  son  is  cleared  from  every 
blot  upon  his  name,  and  his  body,  we  trust,  will  soon  be 
healed  of  the  injury  he  has  received." 

Silently  the  mother's  heart  sent  forth  its  gushing  notes 
of  praise  to  Him  whose  power  and  presence  she  had  so  long, 
so  ardently  implored,  and  then  its  fulness  was  poured  out 
in  tears  of  holy  joy ;  fondly  the  lovely  sisters  clasped  their 
mother  in  their  arms,  and  mingled  the  overflowing  of  their 
happy  hearts  with  hers. 

Soon  was  the  distance  passed  that  separated  them  from 
the  spot  towards  which  their  yearnings  would  have  hastened 
the  speed  of  an  angel's  wing. 

As  they  entered  the  hall  of  the  house,  Sarah  was  there 
with  her  bright  smile  to  meet  the  new  friends  of  her  heart. 

Mary  hastened  towards  her. 

"  Is  this  Sarah  ?" 

«  And  is  this  Mary  ?" 

And  they  were  clasped  together  m  a  fond  embrace. 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  Mrs.  Edwards,  as  she  folded 
the  happy,  noble  girl  to  her  heart,  "  may  heaven's  best 
blessings  rest  upon  your  noble  conduct  to  my  dear  James." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

IT  cannot  be  denied  that  the  great  city  has  enlarged  itself 
during  the  last  forty  years,  and  that  great  changes  have 
taken  place  in  the  character  of  its  buildings,  and  the  style  of 
living  among  its  inhabitants. 

Whether  these  changes  are  upon  the  whole  for  the  best, 
it  is  scarcely  worth  the  trouble  to  inquire  ;  because  all  the 


186  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

reasoning  of  philosophers  will  not  avail  to  place  things  as 
they  have  been. 

But  with  those  who  remember  the  city  forty  years  since, 
there  must  remain  an  impression  of  substantial  comfort,  of 
good  home-living,  which  does  not  strike  the  mind  from  the 
establishments  of  the  present  day.  There  was  then  a  very 
pleasant  and  convenient  agreement  between  the  place  of  bu 
siness  and  the  house.  It  was  often  but  a  flight  of  stairs,  or 
the  turning  of  one  or  two  corners,  and  the  cold  details  of  the 
counting-house  were  exchanged  for  the  smiles  and  heart- 
enticing  scenes  of  the  domestic  fire-side. 

There  had  been  considerable  "  fixing"  to  do  about  a 
plain,  but  substantial-looking  house,  in  one  of  the  lower 
streets.  I  do  not  mean  by  this  that  the  front  was  taken 
down,  and  a  new  one,  ornamented  with  sculptured  stone,  run 
up  in  its  place.  But  the  wooden  stoop  was  taken  away,  and 
some  stone  steps  with  a  plain  iron  railing,  substituted ;  the 
broken  brick  pavement  was  removed  and  replaced  with  brown 
flagging.  Outside  as  well  as  inside,  carpenters  and  painters 
were  busy  putting  a  new  face  upon  things,  until  the  dusky 
appearance  of  the  premises  had  vanished,  and  a  light  and 
cheerful  aspect  was  thrown  over  all  its  parts ;  and  as  the 
passer  by  would  cast  a  glance  through  the  long  entry  to  the 
snug  back  building,  that  rested  so  quietly  in  the  large  and 
shaded  yard,  and  then  into  the  spacious  rooms,  shining  in 
their  new  dress,  and  showing,  with  all  the  freshness  of  their 
first  days,  the  ornamental  carvings  that  ran  over  the  folding- 
door  and  above  the  fire-place,  an  impression  was  at  once  re 
ceived,  that  it  was  a  very  comfortable  place  for  any  one  to 
make  a  home  in. 

This  work  had  been  going  on  during  the  month  of  April, 
and  by  the  first  of  May.  I  do  not  mean  the  first  day  of  May. 
but  early  in  that  month,  there  were,  for  several  days,  occa 
sional  loads  of  furniture  deposited  at  the  door  and  carried 
off"  into  the  interior  of  the  building.  A  few  females  and  an 
elderly  gentleman  could  be  clearly  seen  arranging  things  in 
the  different  rooms ;  until,  finally,  every  thing  seemed  to  be 
completed,  for  the  dust  was  swept  out  of  the  front  door, 
down  the  steps  (there  were  only  two  of  them),  and  finally 
out  into  the  gutter.  The  pavement  was  then  washed  off, 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  187 

and  the  whole  place  looked  as  though  it  was  in  readiness 
to  receive  company. 

May  is,  in  general,  a  beautiful  month  ;  it  has  its  squalls, 
and  showers,  and  sometimes  its  chilly  days  ;  but  it  has  bright 
suns  that  send  their  gladdening  warmth  not  only  upon  the 
opening  flower,  but  even  to  the  very  heart  of  man.  It  has 
sparkling  days,  such  as  inspire  hope,  and  love,  and  kindly 
feeling ;  they  thaw  away  the  frosts  of  winter,  and  free  na 
ture  from  her  icy  chain.  Few  can  feel  gloomy  on  a  bright, 
warm  May  day. 

It  was  on  one  of  these  days,  the  brightest  that  some  ever 
remember  to  have  seen,  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
two  carriages  filled  with  smiling  faces  stopped  at  the  door  of 
the  said  house,  and  more  than  one  neighbor  stepped  to  their 
window  to  see  what  was  going  on. 

From  the  first  carriage  an  elderly  gentleman  alighted  ; 
the  same  who  had  been  seen  superintending  the  repairs,  &c. ; 
he  was  easily  recognized,  for  he  had  a  remarkably  round  face, 
and  his  eyes  twinkled  very  fast;  any  one  who  had  once  seen 
the  face,  would  be  apt  to  remember  it.  But  he  was  now  ar 
rayed  in  quite  a  gala  dress,  for  he  had  on  a  blue  coat  and 
brass  buttons,  drab  cassimer  small-clothes,  and  white  top 
boots.  He  sprang  in  a  lively  manner  from  the  carriage  and 
gave  his  hand  to  a  beautiful  girl ;  she  needed,  however,  but 
little  assistance,  for  she  came  forth  with  the  grace  of  a  fawn, 
and  bounded  up  the  steps  and  into  the  house  as  though  the 
very  stones  had  each  a  spring  to  send  her  forward. 

And  next,  he  handed  forth  a  lady  of  more  advanced 
years,  although  from  the  ease  and  elasticity  of  her  step,  she 
might,  doubtless,  have  equalled  the  younger  in  rapidity  of 
movement.  But  her  demeanor  was  staid,  elegant,  and  in 
perfect  keeping  with  the  manners  of  one  who  might  have 
reached  the  age  of  forty. 

Taking  his  hat,  which  was  a  broad-brimmed  beaver,  from 
his  head,  the  elderly  gentleman  gave  his  arm  to  this  last- 
described  lady,  and  she  ascended  with  him  into  the  house. 

The  second  carriage  now  drove  up.  and  a  young  man, 
well  dressed,  stepped  out,  and  gave  his  hand  to  the  lady  who 
had  been  sitting  beside  him.  He  certainly  seemed  proud  as 
she  took  his  arm  and  entered  the  house,  and  well  he  might 


188  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

be,  for  a  lovelier  girl  of  nineteen  could  not  have  been  found 
in  many  an  assemblage  of  earth's  beautiful  ones. 

And  from  that  same  carriage,  there  then  came  forth 
another  young  man  of  fair  form  and  manly  look.  His  coun 
tenance  was  rather  pale,  but  it  may  have  appeared  so  in  con 
trast  with  his  hair  which  was  so  very  black,  and  his  eye,  so 
keen  and  vivid.  He  gave  his  hand  to  another  fair  one  by 
whom  he  had  been  seated  ;  but  in  an  instant  the  elderly  gen 
tleman  was  by  the  carriage. 

"  Sally,  dear,  lean  on  my  arm ;  James  must  not  exert 
himself." 

"  Oh  !  I  do  not  lean  on  him,  uncle  ;  see,  I  help  support 
him.  although  he  will  not  acknowledge  that  he  needs  any  as 
sistance." 

The  young  man  smiled  at  the  dear  one  who  clung  to  his 
arm.  and  who  evidently  was  not  an  oppressive  burden  to  it, 
as  they  ascended  the  steps. 

As  the  last  pair  entered  the  house,  the  old  gentleman 
closed  the  door  and  the  carriages  drove  off. 

For  a  short  time  there  was  a  going  about  by  all  the  par 
ties  from  room  to  room,  and  from  one  nook  and  corner  to 
another,  until  the  whole  had  been  surveyed ;  when  the  two 
young  persons  who  had  entered  the  house  last,  and  for  whom 
all  this  preparation  had  been  made,  came  up.  walking  arm- 
in-arm,  to  the  old  gentleman  as  he  stood  reclining  against 
the  mantel  shelf,  and  looking  about  with  a  very  happy  and 
contented  air. 

The  young  man  put  forth  his  hand,  and  it  was  grasped 
in  a  very  friendly  manner,  while  the  lovely  fair  one  by  his 
side  threw  both  her  arms  around  the  neck  of  the  old  man, 
silently  weeping  tears  of  happiness. 

'  "  Mr.  Hunt,  I  know  not  what  to  say,  nor  how  to  express 
the  emotions  which  fill  my  heart;  your  kindness  has  fol 
lowed  me  so  long,  has  been  manifested  in  so  many  ways,  and 
especially  in  this  last  token  of  it — this  beautiful  house,  which 
you  have  fitted  up  with  so  much  care." 

"  Not  a  word,  James,  not  a  word,  you  will  be  good  chil 
dren  to  me ;  I  have  no  fear  of  it." 

"  We  have  now,  my  dear  sir,  but  one  more  wish,  to  make 
our  happiness  complete ;  and  it  is  this,  that  you  will  con 
clude  to  make  this  house  your  home ;  Sarah  and  I  pledge 


TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED.  189 

to  you  all  that  two  faithful  children  can  do,  to  make  you 
happy." 

A  moment  he  wiped  away  the  tears  which  had  started 
freely  as  James  spoke. 

"  I  have  made  up  my  mind  so  to  do ;  here,  I  wish  to  live 
and  die ;  but  every  thing  here  is  yours,  and  at  your  dis 
posal.  You  and  Sarah  are  sole  master  and  mistress.  God 
bless  you." 

The  little  party  that  witnessed  this  scene  of  domestic  in 
terest,  was  each  one  a  deeply  concerned  spectator. 

It  was  the  bridal  party  of  James  Edwards  and  his  be 
loved  Sarah.  They  had  been  married  the  previous  evening 
at  the  house  of  Mr.  Geordie  Hunt,  and  were  now  taking  pos 
session  of  their  new  home. 

Mrs.  Edwards  and  her  two  daughters,  Theodore  Berry 
and  Mr.  Augustus  Hunt,  had  accompanied  the  happy  bride 
and  groom. 

Theodore  Berry  and  Mary  Edwards  had  been  special  at 
tendants  upon  the  wedding  ceremony,  and  there  is  every 
reason  to  believe  that,  before  long,  some  kind  friends  will  be 
invited  to  perform  the, same  happy  office  for  them. 

Mrs.  Edwards  .  wiJJ  remain  a  few  days  with  the  happy 
pair,  and  then  return  with  4ier  daughters  to  take  possession 
of  the  white  cottage,  which  James  has  purchased  for  her  as 
a  permanent  home. 

The  first  happy  day  had  been  passed;  cheerful  lights 
were  throwing  their  radiance  through  the  ample  parlors  ; 
Mrs.  Edwards  and  her  daughters  were  seated  together  upon 
the  sofa,  while  James  and  Sarah  were  walking  to  and  fro, 
recounting  some  of  the  scenes  upon  which  their  memories 
loved  to  dwell. 

"  Well,  my  son  !  I  think  that  I  and  your  sisters  can  say 
you  have  fully  redeemed  your  pledge  ;  faithfully  have  you 
provided  for  us  when  your  means  were  very  small,  and  now. 
in  your  abundance,  you  have  made  us  rich  partakers.  That 
home,  which  you  have  purchased  for  us,  will  be  precious,  a 
thousand  fold  precious  beyond  its  moneyed  value." 

"  My  dear  mother,  I  beg  you  to  make  no  mention  of  what 
I  have  done ;  I  promised  a  great  deal,  and  have  had  a  dis 
position  to  do  as  I  engaged ;  but  my  own  agency  has  been 


190  TO  LOVE  AND  TO  BE  LOVED. 

very  trifling.  The  Lord  has  brought  about  all  this,  and  I 
have  been  but  a  mere  instrument  in  his  hand." 

"  Yes,  James,  that  is  all  true.  The  Lord  has  raised 
you  up  friends,  and  shielded  you  from  enemies.  He  has 
blessed  you  as  few  young  men  are  blessed ;  you  have  the 
present  comforts  of  life  and  the  prospect  of  future  wealth. 
But  1  wish  your  dear  Sarah  joy  in  the  husband  she  has 
chosen,  more  from  what  1  know  of  your  devotion  as  a  son, 
than  for  all  your  other  bright  prospects." 

"  And,  my  dear  mother."  said  Sarah,  as  she  took  the  hand 
of  Mrs.  Edwards,  and  looked  up  with  all  her  lovely  spirit 
beaming  from  her  bright  countenance.  "  I  value  him  more 
on  that  account,  than  for  all  the  wealth  we  have  in  prospect : 
it  was  the  support  of  my  confidence  in  my  darkest  day,  and 
it  was  the  foundation  of  my  joy  when,  last  evening,  I  united 
myself  for  ever  to  him." 


0 


THE    END. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


30m-7,'68(J3895s4) — C-120 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA      000118281    5 


